The Lion of Boaz-Jachin and Jachin-Boaz
‘Show me a crux and I’ll show you the cracks,’ said the tightly furled man. ‘You’re not talking to squares now, darling. Don’t try to slide by on crossword puzzles and ninety-nine-year leases. The blank spaces are bigger than ziggurats here, and it’s a long long climb. Deeper than a well.’
‘Rounder than a wheel?’ said Jachin-Boaz.
‘You’re forcing it, poppet,’ said the tightly furled man. ‘Just let it happen.’
‘Don’t be a snob,’ said Jachin-Boaz.
‘Look who’s talking,’ said the tightly furled man. ‘Him with his lions and his traveller’s cheques and his cameras. Obesity is the mother of distention. A bitch in time shaved mine. Take the bleeding castles apart and ship them home stone by stone for all I care. Piss off, you and your lion both. Tourists.’
And then:
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