Writing poetry's,' I looked around the solarium, but Madame Crommelynck's got a tractor beam, 'sort of . . . gay.' '"Gay"? A merry activity?' This was hopeless. 'Writing poems is . . . what creeps and poofters do.' 'So are you one of these „creeps"? 'No.' 'Then you are a „pooof-ter", whatever one is?' 'No!' 'Then your logic is eluding me.
( David Mitchell )
[ Black Swan Green ]
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