Machinists' Oil and Poleax

The night sky was tappet-black with machinists’ oil and poleax. The harridan hurried to the corner, stopped, retrieved her sunbonnet, and went in the opposite direction. She’d dropped her hat earlier that day as she was leaving the (second) church bazaar. She dropped her sunbonnet (the one she dropped earlier that day) while hurrying out the church doors and onto the steps, the steps in front of the church doors in front of the church. The harridan hurried hurriedly across the sideways crossways, her hat (the one she’d lost earlier that day) pressed to her breast. She hurried hurriedly down the steps of the church (the steps in front of the church doors in front of the church where she’d dropped her hat, her sunbonnet, earlier that day) as she disliked being on steps, especially those in front of the front doors of a church. She hurriedly scurried down the front steps of the church, across the sideways crossways and into the street, her hat pressed to her breast. The harridan scurried hurriedly, the hat she’d dropped earlier in the day pressed to her breast. The night sky was black as pitch, so black that the harridan couldn’t see an inch in front of herself. The pitch-black sky was so pitch-black, so tappet-black with machinists’ oil and poleax, that the harridan couldn’t see an inch in front of herself much as she tried. (Poking out of her overcoat pocket was a dog-eared copy of Jakob Von Guten and a pocket-comb with several teeth missing).