"Sleep!” fired Appolonia, in octaves which I had not heard exiting a human before, in what was more a siren of discontent than a voice. “Sleep! Why—won't—you—just—slee-ee-ee-eep!!!"
"Because I,” I found myself screaming, now bolt upright in the bed with a profusion of sweat and saliva on my lips and an indignant finger in the air, without (to my horror) the slightest clue as to what I may say, “I am the divine Willard! I am he, he who by providence—no!! Not by God's decree, no, but by my own decree, by my own self-determination, by all that is holy, in total and final revulsion at the thought of all the foul-mouthed corseted whores, the overwhelming reek of dog urine pervading the world and undermining the stability of my liver functions, by—"
Suddenly an otherworldly sonic horror the li
