Sentence The Threehundredandseventh
“Did Thomas have a maecenas?” asked Chrysanthemum, desperately trying to hide her embarrassment, exonerate herself after her faux pas, bifurcate the direction everything had suddenly, unexpectedly, taken – through no fault of her own, she desperately hoped, but bitterly feared it may indeed have been – and improve her standing in Ludmilla's eyes, by demonstrating her own sagacity, but: “how the fuck should I know?” asked the Russian girl with the most heavenly accent and
glorious eyes, “I don't even know what a maecenas is – or what one would use it for, unless,” and she stared directly into Chrysanthemum's eyes, as if into her very soul, “it's some kind of Dildo!” and
Chrysanthemum wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole.