“…averted the ignoble fate of the menaced mallard.”
After ‘eleemosynary’ Soapy, of whom we have an image of frayed trousers, received Jack Frost’s warning card, and thus he needs his own ‘hegira’ to what he calls the Island. And he does this by reprehensibly breaking the law several times unsuccessfully enough not to be sent to such a ‘rosy dream’ by any policeman, then magistrate.
Law as philanthropy! The masher cinch. A wishful ‘transplendent’ goal that is hailed to a halt by an anthem from a chance church organ, infusing Soapy with an algorithm of remorseful humiliation moving through the slow motion gears towards a new purpose to obviate the encroaching coldness by more positive means.
Except the “dreadful enchantment” in all the previous fair cops became an unfair one as “a hand laid upon his arm” simply for doing nothin’ at all!
PS: But what about the woman he…
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