"What can I say.. that can interest anyone save, vaguely, myself, and of course my guardian angel, a failed psychoanalyst in this life who is even now prodnosing in the air above me, casebook in claw, a lilttle seedy and down-at-winged-heel, in the guttural consulting-rooms of space?"
Myself: What indeed? You didn't tell me you were a verb!
Prodnose: Modesty forbids what the law does not ...
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