Lena’s extravagant strand of slighted filters forgave the lump of adamite of its careless sobbing and took a more sincere approach to filing the strand a little less pointedly.

Lonnie said he would never have remembered the silent sleeper if the wretched filter hadn’t pilfered a pfennig. Extruding the mondlicht through a skeleton keyhole in the bedroom door, Lena weathered the storm, the tempest, the fury of Neptune on a good day, to see her way through to Lonnie’s behest for a more suitable bequest. The joy thus surrendered amounted to a thimbleful of what Lena and Lonnie could spare, so they spared away and let the mondlicht out through the skeleton keyhole in the door to the closet. A closed clothes closet clothed in the finest silk strands wishful thinking could buy–or steal–if we’re being honest–or more to the point, dishonest; a point Lena took a few too many pains to filter in the strand.

In more enlightened news, the mondlicht took a full inventory of the closed clothes closet and paid the bill in full. But not the bail.