other impatient. One nurtures while the other scolds...

For most, the stringent balance of rueful contradictions is ignored. But the sensitive spirt is overwhelmed by incongruity; be it a gradation of destiny or mental defect, a sickening paroxysm subverts rational conformity. Hence, the ensuing fall from equipoise prompts a dearth of corporeal equilibrium.

Posed I: _What is an apt response to fervent consternation?_

How can one blessed with shrewd perception exist amongst the sullied and insincere?

Is it noble to choose death over strict righteousness?

My protagonist, Monsieur DeMiroir, is spurned by scrupulous brashness. Comprehend: DeMiroir is fortified by the scripture of sanctified men. Ascetic in discipline, flagellating desire, the secluded DeMiroir denies compulsion and renounces joy. But stubborn abstinence leaves him frustrated and knotted.

Hesitant to indulge in desire, he stumbles through yearsparlor.

'He's an acquired taste,' Iliosovy whispered in my ear. 'Men of his ilk are in the business of provoking antagonism. Exercise patience and stoicism, my boy.'

Thus, I shoved detestation aside and committed to make the best impression.

As Nekabov flipped pages, I mollified nerves by twiddling fingers. He paused to light a cigar, and I thought he might drop the match on my manuscript! Puffing and muttering and flipping pages...

Mockery polluted the atmosphere worse than the foul smoke.

I feared his smarmy conduct would drive me to fits!

At last, he set the story aside and said: 'Unpolished...melodramatic...but contrite. The first few pages grabbed my attention and-'

'Do you like it?' I interrupted.

'Mm...' Nekabov hawed. 'Mm...there are wordy, egregious passages...I could strike a line through much of the second chapter...yet, you bleat