Thank you, Reverend.
I have one thousand three hundred dollars in the First Bank. In an upstairs room I will not specify I have four thousand in gold coin. I have two horses and fifteen goats and thirty-one chickens and seventeen dresses, worth, in total, some three thousand, eight hundred dollars. But am a widow. What seems like abundance is in fact scarcity. The tide runs out but never runs in. The stones roll downhill but do not roll back up. Therefore you will understand my reluctance to indulge in wastefulness. I have over four hundred twigs and nearly sixty pebbles of various sizes. I have two dead-bird parts, dirt motes too numerous to count. Before retiring I count my dead-bird parts, twigs, pebbles, and motes, rending each with my teeth to ensure all are still real. Upon waking I often find myself short several items. Proving the presence of thieves and justifying those tendencies for which many here (I know they do) judge me harshly. But they are not old women, menaced by frailty, surrounded by enemies, the tide going only out, out, out…
mrs. abigail blass
So many were still waiting A shifting mass of gray and black As far as the eye could People in the moonlight outside pushing and shoving, standing on tip-toe to see Me Faces thrusting into the doorway to blurt their sad This or that None were content All had been wronged Neglected Overlooked Misunderstood Many wore the old-time leggings and wigs and willie lincoln
When in my merry red Jacket of Velvet I moved past Flower-bright Hedges in the full Flush of my Youth, I cut a fine Figure indeed. All who saw, thought well of Me. Men of the Town would Stutter upon my Approach, my SHARDS would step aside, awed, as I Passed.
This is what I should like the young Swain to know.
And many was the time I pounded my Lust out in the Night to good Result; pounding my good Wife or, if she was indisposed, pounding my SHARDS, whom I called SHARDS, for they were, indeed, dark as Night, like unto so many SHARDS of COAL, which did give me abundant Heat. I need only Seize a SHARD-LASS up, & Ignoring the Cries of her SHARD-MAN, would— lieutenant cecil stone
Good Lord.
hans vollman
He is in fine form tonight.
roger bevins iii
Bear in mind, Lieutenant: he is but a child.
hans vollman
And ’twas a Goodly thing, to so Diminish that SHARD-MAN in the Eyes of the Others, and this Message going ’round, their Behavior was Improv’d, and the next working Day even the most Behemoth of those SHARDS would lower his Eyes, for it was I who held the WHIP & the PISTOL and each SHARD knew that, were he to Offend me, that Night would be Costly to Him, & my FEE for his Offense would be that one most Dear to him, and I would kick open his Door and drag his LASS out & remove her to my Quarters, and the evening’s Entertainment would Commence, and that SHARD would be made to give off SPARKS. Consequently, my Fields were Quiet, and when any Order was given, a Dozen pair of Hands rushed to Fulfill it, even as those yellow Weary eyes glanced up, to see, did I Note it, and would I Excuse them & theirs from my Pleasure.
In this way I converted SHARD to Ally, & made them Foes to one another.
lieutenant cecil stone
During these confident-aggressive episodes, fueled by these boastful assertions, Lieutenant Stone’s bodily mass would be swept upward into an elongate, vertical body-coiffe. His body-volume remaining constant, this increase in height would render him quite thin, literally pencil-thin in places, tall as the tallest of our pines.
When finished speaking, he would resume his former proportions, becoming again a man of average size, beautifully dressed, but with terrible teeth.
the reverend everly thomas
Young sir, if we may approach? The little lady and me?
eddie baron
Ah, no. No, no. I’m afraid that will not be possible at this— the reverend everly thomas
F—– that!
betsy baron
Everyone gets a turn! You said!
eddie baron
We was low and fell lower. That’s the main thing we want to— betsy baron
We didn’t even bother bringing our nice s—– into that s—–hole by the river. After the Swede kicked us out of the place on G.
eddie baron
We couldn’t even fit that f—–er, that beautiful couch, through the s—–y little door of that s—–hole by the river.
betsy baron
I do not even consider that s—–y little door of that s—–hole by the river a door, when I think of that f—–ing door we had on G. What a door! The door on that s—–hole by the river would have been ashamed to call itself a door if it ever saw that f—–ing magnificent door on G.
Still, we had our fun.
eddie baron
By the river.
betsy baron
Everybody soused and throwing each other into the f—–ing drink? With lit stogies and all? And Cziesniewski kept trying to pronounce “Potomac”?
eddie baron
Everybody heaving stones at them washerladies?