In the days following the dispersal of the mob and the raid on …er … Squattocrat Towers, Mr Hawksmoor Perroquet became most uncomfortably conscious of the further accretions about his person of disgrace. —
Squattocrat Towers, Hawksmoor Perroquet
And it was true. St Just balefully kicked his cage into a corner of the room they shared, and he seemed quite beneath the notice of Lord Snatch. Even Mr Francis MacMahon, visiting to make solicitous inquiries about the health of Lady Snatch - withal, he brought to the bedside of that invalid no grapes or flowers - even Mr Francis MacMahon, in whom was distilled the acme and the essence of degeneracy, even Mr Francis fucking MacMahon looked with infinite disdain upon the apologetic, skulking presence of the former Mayor. —
Lord Snatch, Francis MacMahon, St Just
Eventually, his thoughts turned to Miss Isolde Perroquet. —
Isolde Acridotheres
Very early upon the morrow, finding his life in … er … Squattocrat Towers beyond bearing for another hour, he betook himself away from that place of desolation, and flapped upwards into the sky, and set a course which traced all the way uphill the contours of Redland Road until he reached the Downs, and striking leftwards across that great green expanse, descended at last into the small topological nip or tuck where nestled Dogging Wood. It was a crisply freezing dawn, the sky blue and the sun low and orange on the horizon, and the hoar frost glittering upon the branches and the denuded twigs. The overnight cold had driven away the felchers and fisters and fellativists from the forest floor, and now all was silent except for the cawing of half a dozen unseen corbies, whom Mr Hawksmoor Perroquet very much hoped were not associated in any way with His Worshipfulness the Mayor. The psittacine gentleman just named flew hither and thither from tree to tree, and peered into every thicket that he passed. At last, just as he began to fear that Miss Isolde Perroquet might have taken herself off to winter in Morocco or Senegal, he caught a glimpse of the familiar vermilion. —
Felchers and fisters and fellativists, Dogging Wood
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