Something new and silly for you in the blog today, Gentle Reader.
For no good reason what-so-ever, below are the opening lines to the third chapter in many of my Parasolverse books…
The Parasol Protectorate
- “Bollocks,” said Lord Maccon, upon seeing who stood before him.
- Alexia lay staring thoughtfully up at the ceiling, feeling about as wet and as limp as a half-cooked omelet.
- Someone was trying to kill Lady Alexia Maccon. It was most inconvenient, as she was in a dreadful hurry.
- “Oh, really, must you?” was Lord Maccon’s considered opinion, expressed to his wife upon seeing her sister in residence, as if Felicity were some sort of unfortunate digestive complaint Alexia had suddenly developed.
- “I don’t have much time,” said Alexia, sitting down with Prudence cuddled in her lap.
- The coachman finally regained his senses, realizing this was not some nightmare.
- Given that all her female friends were aloof and non-communicative, Sophronia took refuge in the boiler room.
- Agatha ran the last few steps to the Scottish girl and placed and arm about her waist, squeezing her close.
- Vieve was waiting for Sophronia behind the Nib and Crinkle as arranged. She smelled as though she had managed to convince the proprietor to serve her a pint—and then gone swimming in it.
- Professor Percival Tunstell moved out of his mother’s hive in Wimbledon and accepted a post as Oxford don the moment he came into his majority.
- They never did get around to the German poetry, or any other form of interrogation that evening, as it turned out.
- Primrose spent a pleasant afternoon in the hotel, the bellman supplying her with seemingly endless pots of tea in an oddly desperate manner that suggested her approval of said tea was paramount for his continued existence.
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GAIL’S DAILY DOSE
Your Moment of Parasol . . .
|1872 Giovanni Boldini (Italian artist, 1842-1931) Woman With A Parasol|
Your Infusion of Cute . . .
We had a kettle; we let it leak:
Our not repairing made it worse.
We haven’t had any tea for a week…
The bottom is out of the Universe.
Your Tisane of Smart . . .
Medical Recipes in the 18th Century
Your Writerly Tinctures . . .
Quote of the Day:
“You see, I had decided—rightly or wrongly—to grow a moustache and this had cut Jeeves to the quick. He couldn’t stick the thing at any price, and I had been living ever since in an atmosphere of bally disapproval.”
~ from My Man Jeeves by P. G. WodehouseTags: Behind the Magic, Custard Protocol, Finishing School, Parasol Protectorate