“Good grief Balfore,” my chum Algy interejected, “You’re taking it in good spirit.”
“Yes, Ha bloody ha,” I agreed. “Dear god if Bunty Broomstead cuckolded me I should knock his damned block off.” Dobbo insisted. Most of the chaps had sampled Jessica, “You haven’t sampled Jessica Ginger?” I queried, “Not queer are you?”
“No I’m not queer, I’m not drunk but I am a girl,” Ginger reminded me. She wore black stockings with suspenders, a black corset which upthrust her bosoms and very little else. She wore black stockings with suspenders, a black corset which upthrust her bosoms and very little else. Bunty had pulled the bed clothes over his head and could be heard praying. Bunty had pulled the bed clothes over his head and could be heard praying. The indignity of my motor’s failure was altogether too much to bear so I determined that with immeadiate effect I should to obtain suitable advice regardng the purchase of a more suitable autocar and thus went forthwith to my club, the London MotorCar Club, off the Marylebone road in Makepiece Street. “Dear god if Bunty Broomstead cuckolded me I should knock his damned block off.” Dobbo insisted. I surmised it was my news of my Darraq which had created the contempt.
