“At this point, we can only speculate about the possible reason for the young lady’s apprehension that she was in dire danger,” Reginald Wiltshire Helmsworth sauntered around the room. He punctuated each by tapping his dapper fedora with his mahogany cane.
He skirted chairs, tables, and the occasional foot stuck out in the middle of the aisle.
“But I digress,” he faced his audience and raised a sardonic eyebrow. “You see it was all ruse, a trick! Because at that time, in England, where the Muffetts resided, there were no poisonous arachnids, and she would have known because her father was an entomologist!”
(I have a feeling Reginald would never allow someone to call him Reggie. So, the question is, how old is Reginald? Me? I’m guessing he’s no older than about six. I love him already. Can you imagine the care with which he chooses his words and his outfits? He sounds fantastic!
I hope you enjoyed today’s little tale.)
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