THE ART OF THE NEXT SENTENCE

Well, since you asked, I am on page 124 of MORNINGS ON HORSEBACK.

The next sentence should be:

1) The Story of an Extraordinary Family, a Vanished Way of Life and the Unique Child Who Became Theodore Roosevelt

2) Thanks for asking. I'm doing pretty well, but I am a slow reader. How’s your Mum?

3) At words poetic, I'm so pathetic that I always have found it best, Instead of getting 'em off my chest, To let 'em rest unexpressed

4) None of your beeswax.

5) Would you like to read it when I am done? CAVEAT: I eat peanut butter cookies while I am reading my books.

6) SETTING: The night is warm and moist and there is no breeze. A moth enters the dwelling. You appear to be visibly upset by the appearance of the moth. I say Shoo, moth, shoo! and attempt to shoo the moth with the back of my hand in a gesture that is somewhat effeminate and unpersuasive to the moth. The longer the moth remains flittering here and there, the more visibly upset you appear. I decide upon a course of action. I stand up, fully erect, and with one simple, declarative, forceful motion, smoosh the offending moth with the backside of MORNINGS ON HORSEBACK whereupon the moth (from now on to be referred to as "EXHIBIT A") remains crushed and lifeless right under the part on the cover that says The Story of an Extraordinary Family, a Vanished Way of Life and the Unique Child Who Became Theodore Roosevelt and the moth remains proper, as they are, adhere between the words 'unique' and 'child' on the cover and there are a lot of peanut butter cookie crumbs about now, but I don't mind, they must die. I mean

If you hate moths, then by God, so do I.