Sentence The Sixhundredandeighteenth

Now, closely observed though it had been, the owner of Hill House in Bowden was blissfully unaware of the scrutiny he, his guests and visitors had been under, little suspecting that the two elderly ladies living opposite were recording all the comings and goings at Ranulph Ochan'toshan's house of ill-repute, and compiling a dossier, complete with photographs taken with the telephoto zoom lens on their Leica, and passing it on to Sam Smiles of the Scottish Security Service; so life inside the target property continued to be relaxed and comfortable, all charges against Ochan'toshan had been dropped, thanks to the Edinburgh Solicitor briefed by Martin Elginbrod, who had disappeared suddenly while on a golfing weekend with then Republican Contender and now President-Elect of the United States of America, Donald 'Duck' Trumpington; and so had Peter Boo, without submitting a bill to 'Uncle' Ralphy, as the village children fondly called him, and he was quite happy for the account to remain unsettled for as long as possible; but he did have two resident guests, both founder members of The Ring of Gold: Sir Parlane MacFarlane, and his valet or manservant, Dominic Doubleday, a true myrmidon, if ever there was one, unhesitatingly executing his Master's orders, with no compunction, no qualms, no conscience, no mercy, and ancestor of a current member, the Deputy Chief Constable, Duncan Doubleday, who had paid several visits in the guise of an old crone (which he had practised many times in the past twenty years, though she had started as a bit of a vamp and simply aged into her present appearance) which they were all certain would fool everyone but an expert observer; various other current members paid visits when they could, all being keen to meet and converse with the two principals who appeared to have travelled forward in time from the 13th Century, though no-one, least of all themselves, had any idea how that had been contrived; of course Larry 'Knickers' Lauderdale and his 'wife' Christiane had come, they lived in the
village and there had been, from their first meeting, an obvious attraction between MacFarlane and Christiane, a plump transvestite, and Knickers seemed to be delighted that his wife was now being fucked regularly by the Founding Father of The Ring of Gold – of course, in common with Ochan'toshan and many of the other members, Knickers principal interest was in young boys and  girls, though in his case, mostly boys; Uncle Ralphy couldn't see the attraction in boys, his own delight being exclusively focussed on pre-pubescent girls, his favourite song, old Maurice Chevalier’s Thank Heaven for Little Girls, was always running through his mind, although the line about 'they grow up in the most delightful way' was one he could never agree with, for as soon as they started their Monthlies, they became hairy and were unpleasant to his acute sense of smell, but 'live and let live' was his motto, he could tolerate others' predilections, just as he expected them to tolerate his own – it was wonderful, he thought, how lacking in petty jealousies the members of The Ring were, even those who, like Knickers, brought their own playmates to his house, were happy to share them with the other members, and it was always a particular delight when a new toy was introduced, and everyone drawn to the particular gender (or, in some cases, either) could enjoy the fun; he, himself, was sad that his 'dear old friend Jimmy Savile was being pilloried in the media and, now deceased, had no opportunity to defend himself, and poor dear old Rolf Harris, already in prison and
now being forced to face yet more accusations, so sad, so very sad, particularly when you remember the pleasure and joy he had brought to so many people, young and old'; he fitted another Church Candle onto the pricket, and lit it, for the light goes so early on these winter evenings, 'time to draw the curtains', he thought: 'we call ourselves, a liberal society, open and accepting of others, regardless of ethnicity, creed, age, gender', yet people like himself 'have to cloak our activities in secret, are treated as perverts and criminals, shunned as pariahs', and it was while lost in these thoughts and feelings that he heard the doorbell: not expecting any visitors at this time, he hurried to see who it was, brushing some oose from his trousers and, on opening the door, "glory be!" he cried, for there were His Grace the Duke of Albany and their dear friend Quentin Ingmarsson and, delight of delights, three of Ingmarsson's children, two little boys, well-scrubbed and smartly dressed and a very
sweet wee girl, with golden curls, looking a bit like the Shirley Temple whose films had caught Ochan'toshan's interest the very first time he saw one, and thus shaped his own desires: "come in, my darlings," cried Uncle Ralphy and the three little children, followed by Dickie, the Duke, and their father, bustled into the house and Ochan'toshan double-locked the door – they wouldn't want anyone to disturb their gambolling today!