Ahh, there she sits, the woman who loves me! How do I know? Well, my good friend, she told me thus.

It was one night whence I was her only security that her affections she did confess, and I must confess, that my fortunes have been frowning upon me ever since.

This scenario may not have been so ill-favored had she some redeeming quality within her person, but alas, I could not see past that nose! That nose, who’s crooked, wart-saddled bridge seemed to be slithering like a yellow serpent in the sickly pale moonlight; that nose, whose cavernous nostrils put to shame any brazen, wine vessel in terms of circumference, diameter, and depth; that nose, whose singular, hair-blessed mole resembled some grassy-brown butte upon which some three or four sojourning bison ought be grazing. Alas, then did she the impudence to reveal her profile. It was after this careless gesture that I perceived, in the moonlight, that this edifice, ever-fixed to her visage, stoutly protruded some three or four inches beyond that bushy surface of her hairy, upper lip.

However, this was, perchance, the more-fortunate of her features.