Sentence The Threehundredandthirteenth
. . . . . it literally came 'Out of the Blue' for, though shortly afterwards the sky was to darken and snowflakes, gentle at first, would come drifting down on the breeze to settle, softly as winter butterflies, on rosebuds and cats' whiskers, though they quickly began to fall thick and fast, covering
the entire area in a dense blanket of white, nonetheless the sky was clear and untroubled when the lightning bolt shot down and seemed to be aimed directly at him, Pherson Dalwhinnie, who was just half-way down the hill, having dismissed the Addisonian auteur from his mind which, like those same butterflies, had flitted hither and thither in his short amble, dwelling briefly on the Arizona Room at his parents' Mansion in the Highlands, where he and his twin Tavish as small boys would tussle over a ball and come to blows over a teddy bear, and where he had first felt those amative stirrings (for the Parlour Maid, Aggie) and experienced his first canoodling (with the Scullery Maid, Jeanie) and had paused outside the Pound Bakery and even was contemplating the purchase of a bacon roll or an iced bun, or indeed, both, to munch as he sauntered along in the same direction as the two girls; he had, he knew, plenty of time, but as it happened he was mistaken, for the lightning bolt
struck him when he had one foot on the step and his hand reaching for the door-handle and POUF! he was no more – perhaps it was the SIG Sauer in his pocket that had attracted it, perhaps it was the blackness of his heart, or perhaps it was, as they say in Glasgow, “Jist his Donald Duck!” and the only proof that he had ever even been there was not discovered till the snows melted a few days later and his shadow was found burned into the pavement and steps outside the bakery!
. . . . . it literally came 'Out of the Blue' for, though shortly afterwards the sky was to darken and snowflakes, gentle at first, would come drifting down on the breeze to settle, softly as winter butterflies, on rosebuds and cats' whiskers, though they quickly began to fall thick and fast, covering
the entire area in a dense blanket of white, nonetheless the sky was clear and untroubled when the lightning bolt shot down and seemed to be aimed directly at him, Pherson Dalwhinnie, who was just half-way down the hill, having dismissed the Addisonian auteur from his mind which, like those same butterflies, had flitted hither and thither in his short amble, dwelling briefly on the Arizona Room at his parents' Mansion in the Highlands, where he and his twin Tavish as small boys would tussle over a ball and come to blows over a teddy bear, and where he had first felt those amative stirrings (for the Parlour Maid, Aggie) and experienced his first canoodling (with the Scullery Maid, Jeanie) and had paused outside the Pound Bakery and even was contemplating the purchase of a bacon roll or an iced bun, or indeed, both, to munch as he sauntered along in the same direction as the two girls; he had, he knew, plenty of time, but as it happened he was mistaken, for the lightning bolt
struck him when he had one foot on the step and his hand reaching for the door-handle and POUF! he was no more – perhaps it was the SIG Sauer in his pocket that had attracted it, perhaps it was the blackness of his heart, or perhaps it was, as they say in Glasgow, “Jist his Donald Duck!” and the only proof that he had ever even been there was not discovered till the snows melted a few days later and his shadow was found burned into the pavement and steps outside the bakery!
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