from the lives of the Esterhazy family
It is ducedly difficult to tell a lie when you don.t know the truth.
To kick off a text with a ferocious looking baroque grand seigneur is gratifying; a thrilling, tingling sensation thrills our bosom, our computers greet us in passing, and our cook, because why shouldn.t we have a cook (who we?) serves us . a surprise! . breaded lamb.s tail, which is like calf.s foot except it.s more savory because it.s more fragile and tender; my father, this ferocious looking baroque grand seigneur who was in a position, nay under obligation, to raise his eyes to Emperor Leopold, raised his eyes to Emperor Leopold, on his countenance an expression of solemnity, though his eyes, twinkling and mischievous, belied him as always, and he said, It is ducedly difficult, Sire, to tell a lie when you don.t know the truth. Having said that, he leaped upon his chestnut steed, Challenger, and galloped off into the discriminating 17th century landscape (or description thereof).
My father, it was presumably my father who, with his painter.s palette under his coat, sneaked back in the museum, stole back in, to retouch the paintings he.d hung on the wall or, at the very least, to effectuate certain emendations thereof.