The kleptocracy composed of ancients stood around the haruspex amidst gut wrenching cries of a goat in anguish, each one anticipating, guessing their compeuppance disguised within fey proclamations in light of several of their colleagues' murders.
"And will you bell the cat for me...Jeeves...please?" pleaded I in a sugarcoated voice, to which the suave majordomo acquiesced, thus terminating the whilom cold war that had broken out between us two with this armistice until the Wooster heart bayed vociferously for blood.
My heart palpitated with growing trepidation as I fossicked around the drawer for spare bullets, with the gaudily dressed psychopath creeping closer brandishing the knife that mirrored his face, a mask of doole that camouflaged efficiently his vile mien.
Doole surrounded the workplace as the persnickety stuffed shirt subjected the management to the vagaries of his whims, taking down the much adored nacreous wall adornment to embellish his office instead.
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