Pynch Me It's Christmas.

I'm a sentimental man, she said, looking out over the veldt. It had been misty for some days prior but on this afternoon, the sun leaked yellow from unknown angles. Major Lunczerny was displeased. Sentimentality is the dungheap of emotions he said to Francis, then loosening the rope belt around his/her jodhpurs. His/her Hebrew disposition had long been a blister on the Major's Caspian hide, at least since Tunguska . . .