Surely God May Look the Other Way Today

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Reading this article will curse you.
Reading this article may curse or just disillusion you.

‘My love!’ said Arachnid Leslie.

‘Oh dear!’ said Miss Demeanour, and they fell into a distant embrace, triumphantly sighing. Somewhere slightly further off a tree was weeping leaves into the streams of the heart; for he had heard that Melancholy Winter was invading with his frozen cavalry divisions.

Arachnid Leslie was whispering something apparently unpublishable. ‘Do you hear that, my love?’ said Miss Demeanour with an infinite yawp. ‘Aren’t the trees simply watermelons of delusion?’

Arachnid Leslie – ah, how knowingly you smiled then! You told her plainly, ‘It is true then what they say: every tree is a great leap towards pelvises.’ Having said this, he resigned himself to inevitability and hurled his liquid body into a pit of hot oil and teeth.

Miss Demeanour began licking her lips and flung herself at once against the dying tree, whose name was Nastenka. Reeling in the quotations of her mistrust, she cracked an enormous egg against the plant’s spine, crying, ‘Die if you must! but know this: quantitative changes transition into qualitative changes.’

With that, the tree died. And so did Miss Demeanour. So entangling ivy was born.

Whose name was Nastenka?