And everything ends well with the police and a burial, with some tears and some solace, with some peace after the battle and battles to come after the respite. To be Shakespearian only a few boys dressed as girls and vice versa are missing, and maybe a play in the play, like some puppets playing their own string and rod story. But it is hilarious because it is a case of perfect English slightly black humor, and blacker does not exist. There will be some victims, essentially a man and a dog but I won't tell you which man and whose dog. You can imagine the stampeding of males at the door of the young woman, and of the little girls who want to touch the rock star, and of the cows in the fields. Then throw into that set of stiff quibbles, and we all know why the males are stiff, a young chick from the press, Fleet Street, on a mission with a brand new surgical nose and the whole little microcosm of this world explodes, especially when she brings a rock star in the picture with a dog that hates cows. The wife of whatever he is, farmer or writer, is blind for one and is naïve for two. The second one is unmarried and as shy as an old bat. The first one is unfaithful by principle and his wife is as blind as mole. Farmer's wife a writer's wife and the farmer a writer, then who is the farmer? The second one that counts is the American university professor on a sabbatical to write a book on Thomas Hardy.
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