The Sable Fringe
fetlocks of many oxen- something murky and shocking
- how to proceed with his seductions
- an act of extreme blasphemy
- Then he shut his cupboards
The sable fringe adorning the monsignor’s cassock, once the fetlocks of many oxen, swept dry leaves from the path as he hurried to the cloister. His premonition bespoke something murky and shocking, an act of extreme blasphemy. The monsignor moved as fast as he could with the tiny strides permitted by his attire’s slender silhouette. When at last he reached the colonnaded avenue outside the cloister, the monsignor paused. His premonition revolved languidly in his mind, showing him the face of the malefactor. His own face. That visage acquired a delighted grin when the monsignor recalled that Sarah lived in the cloister, and Sarah had a reputation. Better yet, her twin sister was visiting. Walking now, as much to catch his breath as preserve his dignity, the monsignor pondered how to proceed with his seductions.
Ten minutes later, ox-bristle fringe dragged dejectedly over the gravel as the monsignor slogged back to his rooms. His premonition had been wildly inaccurate, Sarah and her sister scandalized by his visit. The monsignor took out a mug to make some tea. Then he shut his cupboards and stood staring out the window, waiting for the kettle to boil.