On a Particular Man in a Particular State of Ündressë In Which Very Little Is Revealed, and Yet Too Much Dale Tudge We were lounging about in the state of Ündressë, in summer, when it was warmest, as summers were known to be— at least in places where the Empire had seen fit to acknowledge summer. The yellow star had decided it so that year— after proper consultation with her majesty, the Queen. And that year was a particularly warm year— warm as in hot, not as in welcoming— which, at the time, was as fair a welcome as we received from the Oberbürgermeister of Ündressë— a particular man; a certain man; a man of particular distinction— still lounging about, indeed, in a state of undress.
From a Peculiar Writer Who Learned from some Pros How to Write some Peculiar Prose
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