Arfur's Private Musings
[An unfinished love story, handwritten by Arfur Gregorio, whose name is attached to the bottom of every page.] Her ample bosoms fluttered like doves' fingers, brushing against his nails. The very ends of his moustache stood to attention as the fire stirred behind his eyes. No doubt this was love. Love, ah love! The stuff that dreams are made of. It made him sweat to think of it - the graceful, enduring, blossoming magnitude of what it all, the priceless, breathless, weightless, sheer romping joy of it...