I think not...

Wilbur,

I shall most certainly not be meeting you at De Witts, or anywhere else for that matter after that pitiable piece of fimble famble re Pru FHH. As the fates would have it, I spent an enlightening 17 minutes with her at the Danvers Christmas rout, trapped as I was between the dessert table and Lady Augusta's prodigious, er... magnificent form. Prunella could not speak highly enough of you or the positive deluge of concupiscent missives you exchanged during your sojourn in Zananialand.

Corralled as I was between a quivering posterior and a teetering dessert pyramid (the unfortunate placement of a layer of apricots two thirds of the way up the structure, although inspired, rather destabilised the edifice), I was obliged to spend an agonising 1020 seconds listening to the dear drone on.

Far be it for me to say, as so many do, that she is fit only to lead the blind monkeys to evacuate... but oh, I must! Whatever are you thinking, old friend, to direct your prurient inclinations thusly? She is the kind of creature who would easily be taken in by even cousin Roderick's flummery. I am perplexed in the extreme.

However, the matter of your heteromorphic taste notwithstanding, what I am taking egregious exception to is your denial of the matter of your involvement with the woman. Ours is an unfettered and commodious friendship, and it pains me that after all these years you should feel the need to obfuscate your relations with others.

Kindly explain yourself.

Merry