Sentence The Twohundredandfiftysecond
“What's so funny?” fulminated Teri, feeling rather furious that Martin thought them being spied on was so hilarious; “it was only Timmy, Timmy Poorless, he's harmless, absolutely telluric, a horny-handed son of the soil who's the product of a thousand years or more of in-breeding and incest, he's the local Peeping Tom, he got a camera for Christmas a couple of years ago and he goes around snapping anything that arouses him,” laughed Martin, still rocking in the deck chair; Teri's mood was the polar opposite of his: “but he could show the photos to anyone!” she wailed, but Martin stopped laughing and took her hand, in an attempt to placate her, “I suppose he would if he knew how to put film in it, or could find someone to sell him film and put it in - all he really uses it for is as a heavy telescope, it gives him a much more intimate view, though I don't know how he manages to wank when he's got to hold that thing in his two hands – didn't you notice his willy hanging out, waving about as he ran?” but Teri hadn't, though she now felt much happier, after learning that there was no fear of their photographs being shown around; but perhaps Martin, as he went inside to carry on with the bouillabaisse he had abandoned at Teri's scream, was a little behind the times with his local knowledge, and Teri shouldn't have let go of her anxiety with no absolute proof to guide her; oh well, they'll no doubt find out soon enough!