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unearths some literary gems.
From Foreboding Foretelling at Ficklehouse Felling, by PJ Fitzsimmons:
***a poem that I wrote to and about Penelope Doncaster, comparing her to a hazelnut***a maid that folds towels according to their personality***[spoken to a sham medium]"You look like you haven't seen a ghost."***It just lay there looking promising but inert, like batter before the application of heat.***[asked by someone who has been hearing about how his nephew has made a big success of card counting (i.e., in gambling venues)--but who doesn't know what that is]"What is the measure of success in the card counting field? The number of cards counted?"[see also the attached snippet about the card counter]***Bonus name:Lord Snowsill-WillitP.S. This may be the only book I've ever read that gave me reason to exclaim to myself, as I entered the home stretch, "I *knew* the duck would come into it somehow!"
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