Danse of the Houseboys

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I’m terribly afraid the houseboys may have found some of R Man’s pain pills and taken to self medicating themselves, the naughty pusses. Certainly the interpretive danse festival they insisted on putting on in the hopes of raising his poor, battered spirits seemed, well, excessively odd, even for the boys. Gustavus Schivangus, for instance, kept getting all twisted up in the drapery scrims they were using as backdrops. I finally had to use the garden shears to cut him loose.

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