Provincial gaunt not tall nor yet short Ianeass the Gimp on creaking joists and prematurely septuagenerian joints descended gingerly the stairs. Behind him and above in gloom, the slum stank. Chthonic deities offstage gargled hellishly, or else eructated. Some personage dwelling on an upper floor gave by means of emesis salutations unto dawn, in despite of time’s tending towards afternoon. —
Chthonic deities, Ianeass the Gimp, Ianeass’s spectacles
Below him in the vestibule, the youth St Just, short and carbuncular and unaccountably arrogant, planted swart Doc Martens in the grease veneering the linoleum, and by diverse grimaces signified his disgust at the pervasive reek of cigs and sweat and socks and scat. Ianeass the Gimp, through greasy spectacle lenses peering, shrugged bony clavicles, spoke anew. —
St Just
Ianeass the Gimp, bestowing upon himself one of his bitterest privy smiles, descended unto the linoleum aforesaid, which like loam clung to his slip-ons as he swivelled thereupon, and betook himself through the door in the wall into the parlour lying beyond, wherein as he surmised Mr Francis MacMahon was likely to be found attesting to the sadness of the postcoital state, in which state that disgusting old ogre might perchance prove susceptible to being coerced into one of Ianeass’s sacerdotal chess marathons. —
Francis MacMahon
“I have to confess,” replied in conciliating tones the dark form, which the gloom’s attenuation now revealed as Onanisticles the Scagsmith, “I have to confess,” quoth he, “my participation in the caper, pleading in mitigation my own reluctance. Not to put too fine a point on things, I was coerced by the silver-tongued platitudes of Ianeass the Gimp, whose bondsman I am, into attending here.” —
Onanisticles the scagsmith
“Lady Snatch!” pronounced St Just after a hollow admonitory fashion. —
Lady Kelly Snatch
Miss Minerva Ledwitch, that Pallas Athene of Mangotsfield, contrived to produce her most Lawrentian smile whilst simultaneously furrowing her brow. —
Herod
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