Mr Hawksmoor Perroquet undertook one of his peregrinations on that very Solstice night, and did not return for Christmas in the bosom of his ‘family’. Indeed, he did not return for fully a fortnight. Mrs Isolde Corby, for all that she had enjoyed a most tranquil Christmas with her husband, who was very fond of her, began to grow fearful that an accident had befallen Mr Hawksmoor Perroquet, and that he was dead in a ditch, or had been eaten by a puss or an ape. —
Hawksmoor Perroquet
One day, while Mr Hawksmoor Perroquet was yet absent, a visitor of the avian persuasion called upon the wedded couple in the Mayoral apartments in Southville. A late morning, Mr Ian Corby happened to be alone at that hour, for his wife giving into her anxieties had undertaken to go out and see if she could rescue and bring home Mr Hawksmoor Perroquet, or at the very least glean some shred of intelligence as to his movements. Mr Corby, who was almost never averse to company, greeted the stranger very cordially. —
Ian Corby, Hawksmoor Perroquet, Southville
“Thereby hangs a tale,” replied Mr Tristram Acridotheres very gravely, “upon which by your leave I should very much like to expand.” —
Mr Tristram Acridotheres
“That fellow told me directly that she was dead, at the hands of Perky Pets, and so I do know him most directly as a deceitful rogue.” —
Perky Pets
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