Jedrington has lost his wife and children (or so he thinks)
and feels a bit emotional, poor chap. But this is Victorian England, in which
it is illegal (or so we’re told) for a man to express emotion. His manservant
comes to the rescue by smuggling him into a sordid, backstreet den – a sort of
opium den or speakeasy – in which he can weep freely, away from the prying eyes
of the law. But he’s out of practice and needs illicit images to excite the necessary
juices. This dingy, disreputable establishment provides them, viewed through a hole in a black curtain.
First, there’s a cute little doggie sitting on a stool. Then
there’s a sad little boy who scratches a few notes, badly, on a violin before
keeling over. And then there’s the clincher – the piece de resistance – an oversize headstone on which is writ ‘Some
Orphans,’ with the cute little doggie sitting next to it.
Jedrington gets his cry; I get my laugh; and The Bleak Old
Shop of Stuff is highly recommended to anybody with a slightly odd sense of
humour.
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