Wildean Fragment 5
Inspiration hits with a flash, stories written on the go. A rumble of laughter and the tale is heard only in echoes. The wind blows me in a new direction. Whom shall I visit next?
One dazzling evening, Mr. Dover Beach was lunching with me and tossing his curls. One of the curls fell down to the ground and Lee Flit swiftly stooped down and rescued it from a passing crayfish, which frazzledly crayed away for easier prey.
Oliver Sutton, a teeming man with two left feet in his backpack, approached warily and began to ply his wares. "Be ware?" he enquired inquiringly.
But our reply was interrupted by Beach's creator, who clumped expectedly over and fastidiously bruited the merchant Sutton, Lee, and me about the heads and shoulder. I tried to protect the exit causeway, but Arnold raced for the door, and abruptly died.
No sequels yet. Why not write one?
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‘Good-bye, dear Prince!’ he murmured, ‘will you let me kiss your hand? I am going to the House of De…Wildean Fragment 4
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