The talk soon came around to dancing. His pantaloons were incongruous but, in her green drndl hand-me-down, she herself was scarcely a model of elegance. None of which seemed to matter as, seamlessly, they moved from talk to practice. Well, more of a lesson, if truth be told, as Ella, till now, had only read of the Pavane. The Don’s grace and courtly manners were matched only by her guileless acquiescence and, perhaps, by the vacuous stares of the seven attendant Livingstone Daisies, resplendent in their black neckerchiefs and white lace petticoats. There were none to mock, for it was Tuesday, and barely dark.
No, I've not quite gone mad. There was a short-lived blog once, called Paraplexed. I always had a soft spot for this particular post and thought I'd preserve it here. Anyone recognise the picture?