Monday, December 27, 2010

Mr. Squitchy

The country looked underdone, its raw juices squirting out all round. I buttoned out this squitchy air as well as I could with my lean double-breasted dress-coat—my over-coat being so long skirted I only used it in my wagon—and spitefully thrusting my crab-stick into the oozy sod bent my blue form to the steep ascent of the hill.

found by F.S. (and becrutchéd Melvillean) Sam, at the McNally-Jackson blog

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