Ms. Ivy McCollum of Elsinore Manor

The Barrister Brian Brambly deposed his hat and sat on the pew next to Ivy McCollum, his proctor’s arse touching wood and splinter. He unbuttoned his greatcoat and spread it across his lap, knuckle and thumb conniving, Ms. Ivy McCollum of Elsinore Manor refolding her natty, fingers fingering knickers by the twos. The Baker Balthazar the Bilious made a sweet berry tart, crimping the edges with a tuning-fork and sprinkling the top with dicing sugar. Ms. Ivy McCollum of Elsinore Manor made a bead for the sweet berry tart, her fingers frequenting the folds of her marigold dress. The Barrister Brian Brambly, making headway with his deposing, made a banknote appear from the upside down of his hat, corking good fun for a barrister-in-laws, given his temper and scolding mood. Times a wasting, said Ms. Ivy to the Baker Bilious, and none too soon, replied Barrister Brian, his courts’-cap breaking wind with the low-benchers’ on high. Had I a tosspot to piss in every time the wind blew a nosegay in my direction I’d be a flowery sot, so I’d be, said Balthazar nonplussed and in vain. Chancy cunt I’d say, never to soon to learn a good fare-in-trade, bellowed Brian Brambly Barrister at laws. Had it my way I’d eat sweet berry tarts till my head caved out, mewed the Ms’. of Elsinore Manor, busy cooking up a tosspot of beans and lard of the earth.