I didn’t feel well yesterday, so I read a bit more of Violet Crepuscular’s dauntingly long romance novel, Oy, Rodney.
Faced with bankruptcy and ruin, young Lord Jeremy Coldsore hires a mysterious stranger whose only talent is performing imitations of persons whom most people have never heard of. He avoids giving his name, but his impression of Pete Runnels would really wow everyone if they only knew who Pete Runnels was.
Lady Margo Cargo, the richest widow in Scurveyshire, insists on going out to check her mailbox and has a nasty fall. The termites have been at her wooden leg again. Jeremy is still trying to find the right way to propose to her. “Here is how Pete Runnels would do it,” says his new adviser. But Jeremy gets tongue-tied.
(In case you were wondering)
Willis Twombley, the American adventurer who claims he’s Sargon of Akkad, sues to get his ancient empire back. An unscrupulous solicitor takes his case.
Two pages of Chapter LXXIII are completely black, indicating two nights in which nothing happens.
The vicar, recovering from his conniptions, can now say, “Rodney! Rodney!” No one knows what he means; nor is anyone else willing to peek under the backyard wading pool to see what he saw.
Please stop criticizing my choice to display the cover of Lord of the Tube Socks. My copy of Oy, Rodney is one of those books with the cover torn off so it can be sold cheaply.