employ outright extortion against poor, hapless Amos. Amos’s preference was for not playing along. Imagine the effrontery: Morton attempting to ignore the offense in exchange for clearance of a rather large financial obligation. Amos thought, of course, that Morton was bluffing. Unfortunately, in this particular game, it turns out, Morton was not.
I say foolish, because any competent contemporary poker player knows that this game is rife with lexical pitfalls. Best to play in wary silence. Yet Amos wasn’t silent. In fact, Amos, thanks to chugging back four bottles of stout lager, was anything
but
silent. May I repeat an important part of this last statement? Four. Bottles. Yes, Amos has fallen totally off the wagon. Moreover, the wagon has all but run over him.
The wages for the topple were high: by concentrating a little toomuch on refraining from use of the fourth letter, he was to employ by careless miscalculation the tantamountifically perilous tenth letter of the alphabet. Thank Screnity the suit in his possession was hearts or he might be on a boat Satto-gatto morning. (King, Consort, Knave. Knave! I thought all poker players were in agreement on these new royal appellations!)
Love
,
Gwenette
NOLLOPTON
Thurby, September 28
Mother,
We are here. It was a pleasant trip.
Nate is preparing to meet with Mr. Lyttle. Aunt Gwenette is herself preparing for her big meeting tomorrow night. She will invite Nate to speak to the group. Uncle Amos agrees that this is a wise move. Nate has several things of importance to tell the members of this refreshingly subversive sub-terra group. It is all very exciting. I think we are on the brink—things possibly beginning to turn in our favor. In spite of the loss of the new tile. You will hear soon. Not to worry. It is one we can easily spare: “K.” My preference: the loss of another “O,” but we can certainly live with this.
I love you, Mother. (Please Heavenly Nollop, spare “V” till the last, so that I may continue to profess my affection for my precious mamah!)
Tassie
PS. The statutes come with greater alacrity. The latest official elision takes place at
12
:
00
on the Satto-Sunshine cusp!
PPS. I am falling in love with Nate. There was a kiss—a passionate kiss—on the trip to town.
It took me completely by surprise. Kkkkkiss me again, Nate, while I may still speak of it!
NOLLOPVILLE
Fribs, September 29
My loving Tassie,
I must tell you of something nice that has taken place. I was sent an invitation by Mr. Rory Cummels who you will remember is the owner of the market in our village. To come to his house for coffee—for a pleasant neighborly chat. Rory hasn’t the trouble most here in Nollopville have in carrying on conversation without the usual stuttering stoppages that seem to penetrate every verbal exchange I engage in in these trying times. It seems a gift, his knowing instantly which letter combinations to use to bypass the verboten ones.
In turn, I gain an easiness, a level of public comfort I haven’t felt for some time. He is cheerful, but not without his own tales of sorrow. His family has left him. It is now official. He cannot follow, as he is in possession not only of a fairly profitable business (With the closing of McNulty’s Greengrocer, you’re probably aware, his will be the last grocerateria in the Village!) but other real property as well. To simply walk away from such an investment—this can only be financially catastrophic! There is also, relating to his wife, the matter of alienation of affection; his marriage is in its last hobbling months.
I believe that Rory likes me, Tassie. He seems to truly appreciate my company. I want to see more of him. I believe he seeks the same of me.
Finally! A bright ray in all the murk. I am not feeling even an ounce of concern over the loss of “K.” “K” may go. The two of us will learn to accept its loss.
You are probably at this point, examining this letter with utter
I say foolish, because any competent contemporary poker player knows that this game is rife with lexical pitfalls. Best to play in wary silence. Yet Amos wasn’t silent. In fact, Amos, thanks to chugging back four bottles of stout lager, was anything
but
silent. May I repeat an important part of this last statement? Four. Bottles. Yes, Amos has fallen totally off the wagon. Moreover, the wagon has all but run over him.
The wages for the topple were high: by concentrating a little toomuch on refraining from use of the fourth letter, he was to employ by careless miscalculation the tantamountifically perilous tenth letter of the alphabet. Thank Screnity the suit in his possession was hearts or he might be on a boat Satto-gatto morning. (King, Consort, Knave. Knave! I thought all poker players were in agreement on these new royal appellations!)
Love
,
Gwenette
NOLLOPTON
Thurby, September 28
Mother,
We are here. It was a pleasant trip.
Nate is preparing to meet with Mr. Lyttle. Aunt Gwenette is herself preparing for her big meeting tomorrow night. She will invite Nate to speak to the group. Uncle Amos agrees that this is a wise move. Nate has several things of importance to tell the members of this refreshingly subversive sub-terra group. It is all very exciting. I think we are on the brink—things possibly beginning to turn in our favor. In spite of the loss of the new tile. You will hear soon. Not to worry. It is one we can easily spare: “K.” My preference: the loss of another “O,” but we can certainly live with this.
I love you, Mother. (Please Heavenly Nollop, spare “V” till the last, so that I may continue to profess my affection for my precious mamah!)
Tassie
PS. The statutes come with greater alacrity. The latest official elision takes place at
12
:
00
on the Satto-Sunshine cusp!
PPS. I am falling in love with Nate. There was a kiss—a passionate kiss—on the trip to town.
It took me completely by surprise. Kkkkkiss me again, Nate, while I may still speak of it!
NOLLOPVILLE
Fribs, September 29
My loving Tassie,
I must tell you of something nice that has taken place. I was sent an invitation by Mr. Rory Cummels who you will remember is the owner of the market in our village. To come to his house for coffee—for a pleasant neighborly chat. Rory hasn’t the trouble most here in Nollopville have in carrying on conversation without the usual stuttering stoppages that seem to penetrate every verbal exchange I engage in in these trying times. It seems a gift, his knowing instantly which letter combinations to use to bypass the verboten ones.
In turn, I gain an easiness, a level of public comfort I haven’t felt for some time. He is cheerful, but not without his own tales of sorrow. His family has left him. It is now official. He cannot follow, as he is in possession not only of a fairly profitable business (With the closing of McNulty’s Greengrocer, you’re probably aware, his will be the last grocerateria in the Village!) but other real property as well. To simply walk away from such an investment—this can only be financially catastrophic! There is also, relating to his wife, the matter of alienation of affection; his marriage is in its last hobbling months.
I believe that Rory likes me, Tassie. He seems to truly appreciate my company. I want to see more of him. I believe he seeks the same of me.
Finally! A bright ray in all the murk. I am not feeling even an ounce of concern over the loss of “K.” “K” may go. The two of us will learn to accept its loss.
You are probably at this point, examining this letter with utter
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