"Although many are chosen, few are asked," quoth Arabella, her ringlets gently cascading down her whalebone corset as she suckled eagerly on her uncle's meerschaum pipe. The servants stood eagerly by, creaking deftly on queue as each in turn stood forth with lit wooden match and snifter of brandy.
"Pizzle and tosh," sneered Granford, late Earl of Suxbuttle, hero of the Retreat of the Thousand in the Dash of Sniggipore. "You'll not take my private stables from the rightfully indentured without a by your leaf, snivel and squirm as ye may." And in a single indelicate motion he unsheathed his truncheon.
Meanwhile, half a world away, a single remaining galleon attempted fruitlessly to find the legendary Himalayan Passage to the Antipodes. Mad with thirst, flesh hanging like ragweed suits from impartial shoulders, the crew surrounded the captain with stuttering gait, a whistle blew, and they burst into song.
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