That, and the panic in her voice. He had remained true enough to himself
for art to imitate life however feebly – to the very end of Miserys
hackneyed adventures.
They knew who she was, all right.

More fu-haiku. What is fu-haiku?

It’s the haiku people send you because they care about your hair, chemical imbalances, sex life, financial situation, or because they’re royalty/famous/the child of a diplomat/the child of all of the above … and what they’re really trying to say is: fu. But accidentally they manage to capture poetic thoughts and subtle meanings from the milieu that is the web. It’s like random, except less well organised. I think the words originally sprung from the typewriters of an infinite number of monkeys.

At least, that’s how I like to think of it.

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