It is sincerely doubted that we know you, dontcha know, because we certainly do. On our proverbial doorstep, the threshold of all tension, submission et counterprevention, tell the butler what you'd be wanting and we might condescend to admit you admittance.
We are, as they say, a literary lot. A crowd of scurrilous lit-gits who delight in the turn of a phrase and the turn of a screw. Herein is our publication, smudged out with the ink of our veins and the red of our ever-bleeding hearts. More tea, anyone? There we are then.
After all, lovie, what's the worst that could happen? Best that you be of age, anyhow, wouldn't want to frighten the children.
Adieu pour vous,
The Café Tragique
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