I can batter your covered way with double-headed shot, backed with bombs and mortars — at least I shall not desist from my attack upon you, unless, after throwing my bombs, I should be so fortunate as to spring the mine of multiplication, and blow you up with the powder of pregnancy and propagation.
I am, dear Miss, yours, amp;c.
Ensign Flame.
Вы читаете The Boudoir No. 5