"Oh, Octagoval, I am sorry for my offense. I have not had the opportunity to bathe for two months, and I have run out of perfumes for my lady's nest."
"Forgive me, Lady Destrella: my loins are willing, but my nose cannot bear the thought."
"Perhaps I could just envelop your man-root with my mouth...."
"Uh...."
"Oh no, Octagoval, that too? Is it because of my decayed and missing teeth and my swollen bleeding gums?"
"Well, yes, Lady Destrella, that is pretty much it. Your mouth smells of spoiled barley and chamberpots."
"Maybe it was meant to be: ours, a love never to be consummated."
"Perhaps, Lady Destrella: perhaps that is our stars."
"Oh, Octagoval, you are crying!"
"Uh, no, Lady Destrella: it is just my eyes watering from the hellish stench..."
I am Laslo.
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