I had rested on a seat, my back pressing lightly against padding held within cream cloth severely stitched and bound around oak. When I felt I had rested enough, I stood in front of the seat. I spoke, then, I thought, ornately.

The cushion I had chosen to describe had not moved and had not been moved as I had rested. Having rested, I described it. I described as well as I would ever be able to describe any object. For example, amongst other descriptive episodes, addressing the cushion, I effervesced with praise for the individual or automaton responsible for its stitching, before elaborately presenting an oration on the stitching itself.

I considered, later, that I might have degenerated into pompous oratory on another occasion, but that I had not been guilty at this time of anything other than the effective use of florid language.

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