Simon Wheeler backed me into a corner and
blockaded me there with his chair, and then sat me down and reeled off the monotonous
narrative which follows this paragraph. He never smiled, he never frowned, he
never changed his voice from the gentle-flowing key to which he tuned the initial
sentence, he never betrayed the slightest suspicion of enthusiasm.
This very short tale from Mark Twain is often anthologized. I find the
offered quote from the story my own view on the matter. I take it we are to
find this wooly tale one of high amusement, but I found myself more in keeping with
Twain’s captive audience.
It’s not a badly done wooly tale, but the merit seems to be in its
brevity.
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