I'd prefer to leave it at that, but you are one of those detestable people who insist on going on after the climax. So I may as well tell you that at this point our friend's legs took to action on their own, no doubt remarking to themselves as they did so that this was but another instance of damned bad Staff work. I sometimes wonder whether possibly it isn't easier to be a limb than a brain.
Yours ever,
Henry.
MR. PUNCH'S POTTED FILMS. THE PASSIONATE DRAMA.
THE DEMON OF JEALOUSY.
"Wretched woman! Who is this? Henceforth you are no wife of mine!"
A woman's anguish.
