Conor, as an older man, decided he wanted, in future, to go anonymous as he rather fancied emanating an element of ‘the uncanny’ in his daily flowing to and fro in the riparian currents of social intercourse in drawing-room, lounge or parlour. Already, I have been urged by forces-unknown to omit his surname in this foreshortened missive, with which urges, you can readily see, I have, already complied, but from this point onward I shall eschew even using ‘Conor’ as his forename — or Christian name as it was called in the circles I grew up as a boy, and ‘Conor’ now being a very modern favourite forename with which many people Christen their child. Except such an unnecessarily long-winded explanation of mine does not preclude anyone now looking back above at the forename for him that I have now denied myself the use of using. But what’s the use? ‘Uncanny’ is indeed the watchword for this undue agonising by me over matters that will surely just drift into your consciousness momentarily and then drift out again, especially amongst all your other concerns in a busy world, where the salmon doth still try to leap, but not forever.
Must fly, while I still can.Signed: An Inconnu
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