They gasped and clutched at the folds of their lace ruffs,
puffing up then weeping wretchedly, tears soiling
their velveteen gloves, their perfect pencil moustaches,
their brocaded etiquette guides with the woodcuts of pugs
on every verso page, their lavatory covers
and their doilied occasional tables,
their dark rages, their secret lockboxes,
the terrible treble of their taut larynxes.
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