Ah! Haunted again by my poor dead bride! Her very tendrils quivered mere inches from my gaping maw! Her painted thigh all a-shimmer before my gawping globe!
Ah :;.^.! What a life we could have had. Never did she set foot upon English soil before her untimely end at the hands of a spinning jackanape. And yet, there I saw her in this very room - obscuring my view of the News at Ten.
Steadying my nerves with a strong, bitter quaalude, I consider: I am a man of science. And this is 18--. Queen Victoria on the throne, let us not forget! We are not some stone-worshipping clan!
If only I could make sense of this madness!
I find myself terrible fearstruck. I beg a sojourn in the countryside to clear my mind.
Wither sanity?
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