Sentence The Twohundredandsixtieth
And, just as Goldilocks had invited Doubleday to “do, if you please Sir, come again,” which he duly did, Mistress Griselda gave a little squeal and The Masked Intruder placed a fingertip to her very lips
and begged her “hush! Mistress, this is no sunstead vidimus, you need fear not that I would ride rough-shod over your virtue and treat your irenic protestations as merely the cavil of a free woman alately become the property of he whose ring you wear upon your finger - pshaw! see – how easily you are liberated,” and so, in a trice, removing her Wedding Band from her finger and in the same quick movement casting it through the fortuitously open casement, where it was cleverly caught by a ragged urchin who just be the greatest good fortune to himself just happened to be passing beneath and had looked up at the sound of Sir Parlane's voice, a voice he weel kent, for among the lesser classes of people in this teeming metropolis of some 8,000 souls - slightly more if you counted the slaves, and less if you discounted the newly dead – MacFarlane was revered as an alleviator of boredom and poverty and Wee Eck's boredom and poverty had both been well alleviated in the previous twa days 'n' nichts, during which he and a few others of his street-picking acquaintance, had been remunerated by Sir Parlane in order to contrive an accidental meeting between himself and The Lady Eudora, wife if a wealthy Fife Merchant who had recently purchased for himself an large and imposing Hall on The High, just two Wynds eastward and on the same side as The Maister Kilquhenny had his, and once the chance meeting had occurred as planned and the two lovers were locked in the embrace of True Lust, the three urchins had so distracted Sir Puffin Kingsman that the
merchant's head was still reeling from the merry dance they had led him around and between the feet of business upon The High from morn till very late at night, going far babove and beyond the necessary, for so much had they enjoyed their labours that they had persisted without instruction, until Sir Puffin had fallen in an apoplexy from which he did not recover, even though he was assiduously indulged, with no expense spared, as recounted in Tales of a Grandfather by Sir Walter Scott, first bearer of that illustrious name and much, much later descended from by another of that name who found his own fame and fortune made by his import, on three small and unwieldy tubs called Eshack, Meshack and Abednigo, of Nutmeg, Poppy and Ropeweed: three by-products which, when used irresponsibly, gave rise to such confushion in the heid 'n' body that just at that very moment when his wits were very much required to co-ordinate with his body he was sprawled face down in a noxious puddle from which he contracted various deadly ailments and died and has not yet been replaced, for at least two of his legitimate children are contesting this Last Will and Testament which leaves his entire estate to the child “kent as Itchy, though his true name be Archibald” currently lying through his teeth to the effect that he was not wanted, for various thefts and swindles, up and down the entire length of The High, from Holy Rood to the very gates of The Castle itself!
And, just as Goldilocks had invited Doubleday to “do, if you please Sir, come again,” which he duly did, Mistress Griselda gave a little squeal and The Masked Intruder placed a fingertip to her very lips
and begged her “hush! Mistress, this is no sunstead vidimus, you need fear not that I would ride rough-shod over your virtue and treat your irenic protestations as merely the cavil of a free woman alately become the property of he whose ring you wear upon your finger - pshaw! see – how easily you are liberated,” and so, in a trice, removing her Wedding Band from her finger and in the same quick movement casting it through the fortuitously open casement, where it was cleverly caught by a ragged urchin who just be the greatest good fortune to himself just happened to be passing beneath and had looked up at the sound of Sir Parlane's voice, a voice he weel kent, for among the lesser classes of people in this teeming metropolis of some 8,000 souls - slightly more if you counted the slaves, and less if you discounted the newly dead – MacFarlane was revered as an alleviator of boredom and poverty and Wee Eck's boredom and poverty had both been well alleviated in the previous twa days 'n' nichts, during which he and a few others of his street-picking acquaintance, had been remunerated by Sir Parlane in order to contrive an accidental meeting between himself and The Lady Eudora, wife if a wealthy Fife Merchant who had recently purchased for himself an large and imposing Hall on The High, just two Wynds eastward and on the same side as The Maister Kilquhenny had his, and once the chance meeting had occurred as planned and the two lovers were locked in the embrace of True Lust, the three urchins had so distracted Sir Puffin Kingsman that the merchant's head was still reeling from the merry dance they had led him around and between the feet of business upon The High from morn till very late at night, going far babove and beyond the necessary, for so much had they enjoyed their labours that they had persisted without instruction, until Sir Puffin had fallen in an apoplexy from which he did not recover, even though he was assiduously indulged, with no expense spared, as recounted in Tales of a Grandfather by Sir Walter Scott, first bearer of that illustrious name and much, much later descended from by another of that name who found his own fame and fortune made by his import, on three small and unwieldy tubs called Eshack, Meshack and Abednigo, of Nutmeg, Poppy and Ropeweed: three by-products which, when used irresponsibly, gave rise to such confushion in the heid 'n' body that just at that very moment when his wits were very much required to co-ordinate with his body he was sprawled face down in a noxious puddle from which he contracted various deadly ailments and died and has not yet been replaced, for at least two of his legitimate children are contesting this Last Will and Testament which leaves his entire estate to the child “kent as Itchy, though his true name be Archibald” currently lying through his teeth to the effect that he was not wanted, for various thefts and swindles, up and down the entire length of The High, from Holy Rood to the very gates of The Castle itself!
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