Ante Browne

Like you, dear readder, I long for the demure language of days better known by starched collars and snuff. A man can't carry a cane these days without looking suspect. What is he hiding, they think, under his bowler?

Well...

Under my hat is Laynie Browne's book, The Scented Fox.

The language is mythic Victorian, known in academic circles as awesome. The Flora and Fauna, whose presence is usually all too boring for my motor mind, is presented through lavender tinted spectacles. You take them off and everything is still lavender - lavender water, lavender drapes, lavender dog. You feel confused, nauseous. You dab your head with a black hankerchief, have a sip of the odd purple water, and sit back down. The lavender sun fades in the corner of the window. You'll be ready to leave a little later. For now, you will read some more. Find it here