Sentence The Twohundredandfortyseventh
The door was now ajar and Griselda could see a shadow on the floor, a shadow that took on the substance of an objet trouvé, like the relic of a Saint, symbolising a heroic, almost Homeric figure, brave, heroic, a warrior, even a Saviour; and as the door opened further she saw a Man, with the top half of his face hidden by a mask, through which she could see his eyes, those same eyes which had met hers on The High earlier, the eyes of the Man who had promised to come to her tonight, and she felt a plaint rise in her throat, an almost irresistible desire to query his mask, why hide behind
something which itself could not hide his identity, and thinking of his identity she recalled the words of an old friend, a renown lexicographer, who had explained to her the importance of the root of a word in signifying not only the origin of it, but it's essential essence, as that which gives life to the flower, and the word root itself made her think of Ginseng, sometimes known as Man-Root among the women of the Market, who said it could stiffen the resolve of a lover, or a Husbandman, they added guardedly, lest anyone think they were condoning something prohibited by the Church, and fornication sounded too brutal a word to her tender years, while adultery was much more seductive, almost creamy, and she had always been partial to the cream of the milk on her porridge.