As we move into Chapter DXXXII of her immortal classic romance, Oy, Rodney, author Violet Crepuscular challenges us with exotic prose. The chapter opens with a speech by Constable Chumley. See what you can make of it.
“Yon briggage hath a sawney plock, but ather skeel shell veck thee.”
Meanwhile, Lady Margo Cargo has found harpies squatting in her attic. “I want something done about it!” she expostulates.
“I’m kind of busy, old thing,” replies Lord Jeremy Coldsore. Egged on by the June Taylor Dancers, woolly mammoths prepare to assault the gates of Coldsore Hall.
Harpies also habituate the outdoors.
But wait! Mr. Pitfall is at the door, with a box of candy; he is Ms. Crepuscular’s suitor.
(All right, all right, I hear you! “What kind of candy?” you inquire. As if it was important! Well, I don’t know what kind of candy! I’m busy with these harpies.)
Mr. Pitfall will not be denied. He presses his ear to the letter slot and hears the familiar sound of Ms. Crepuscular ululating in her kitchen. (She is trying to imitate what she imagines to be woolly mammoth noises.) He knocks vigorously.
The Queen of Suspense looses a blood-curdling scream.
And then silence. (Isn’t that suspenseful! Wow!)
The candies have toothpaste centers, right? (Except for the licorice nougat ones and the anchovy sponge ones, of course.)
You peeked!
At times like this, I find comfort in Constable Chumley’s words. Well, any port in storm.