Violet Crepuscular, “The Queen of Suspense,” prepares to launch Chapter DCLXXXIV of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney, with these few words to the reader.
“Imagine how different the whole world would have been,” she aviates, “had Parliament not passed a law forbidding the feeding of cat food to members of the clergy! I for one can’t imagine it! In fact, I think I’d better go lie down.”
We can only speculate on what she would have or might have written this weekend, had she been up to it. Dog-walker Eileen Spelunky of Baldy, Wisconsin, thinks she has the answer.
“But I ain’t tellin’,” she asserts: “not unless I git $500.”
We know what’s wrong with Ms. Crepuscular: all those toothpaste sandwich cookies going to bed, not to mention washing it down with maple syrup. It makes me woozy, just to think about it.
Meanwhile, we have not been told how far the traveling executioner has yet to go to reach Scurveyshire. Willis Twombley is sure he can bribe him to drop the case. “I wouldn’t of given the vicar no cat food,” he explains, “only he kept meowing for it.”
[I’m sorry, that does it–a lie-down for me, too!]