From The Day of Days: An Extravaganza, by Louis Joseph Vance:

***

"Smell," P. Sybarite mused aloud....

For an instant he was silent in depression. Then with extraordinary vehemence he continued crescendo: "Stupid-stagnant-sepulchral- sempiternally-sticky-Smell!"

He paused for both breath and words—pondered with bended head, knitting his brows forbiddingly.

"Supremely squalid, sinisterly sebaceous, sombrely sociable Smell!" he pursued violently.

Momentarily his countenance cleared; but his smile was as fugitive as the favour of princes.

Vindictively champing the end of a cedar penholder, he groped for expression: "Stygian ... sickening ... surfeiting ... slovenly ... sour...."

He shook his head impatiently and clawed the impregnated atmosphere with a tragic hand.

"Stench!" he perorated in a voice tremulous with emotion.

Even that comprehensive monosyllable was far from satisfactory.

"Oh, what's the use?" P. Sybarite despaired.

Alliteration could no more.

***

With thanks renewed and profound, I remain, all things considered,

Remotely yours,

P. SYBARITE.

***

"Well, look who's here! 'Tis old George W. Postscript—as I live!"

***

"Ain't you hep yet?" George betrayed some little exasperation in addition to his disappointment.

"Hep?" P. Sybarite iterated wonderingly.

"Hep's the word," George affirmed: "John W. Hep, of the well-known family of that name—very closely related to the Jeremiah Wises. Yunno who I mean, don't you?"

"Sorry," said P. Sybarite sadly: "I'm not even distinctly connected with either family."

***

"Well, then you gotta admit they look alike as twins—"

"But I've known twins who didn't look alike," said P.S.

***

"And what's Lessing but Blessington docked goin' and comin'?"

***

"Then you don't believe what I'm tellin' you?"

"Not one-tenth of one iota of a belief."

***

[Blank cards are "taciturn"!]

He turned the card over and examined its unmarked and taciturn reverse.

***