Frankenstein - According to

brigade chased but he outstripped them.
    ‘Indeed,
who would credit that Justine Moritz became capable of so appalling a crime?
The morning of the murder, servants had discovered in her pocket the ivory
elephant brooch. She has been apprehended and charged with the murder.’
    Nonsense!
I knew that the murderer had been eating a fish paste sandwich and travelling
at 100 miles per hour with his trousers down.
     
    The real murderer was eating a
sandwich of fish paste
    To finish it he would have to
make haste
    His trousers were laying in haste
on the floor
    Could he ask for anything more?
     
    My
dear father, you are mistaken. Justine is innocent. No sir, I tried it on with
her and she wasn’t having any of it. I sincerely hope she will be acquitted.
The murderer was a man with his trousers down, eating a fish paste sandwich and
travelling at 100 miles per hour.
    My
tale was not one to announce publicly. I would tell it to someone privately in
a cupboard.
    We
were soon joined by Elizabeth. Time had altered her since I last beheld her; it
had endowed her with loveliness surpassing the beauty of her childish years —
and huge boobs. She welcomed me with the greatest affection, and I gave them a
quick squeeze.
    ‘She
is innocent, my Elizabeth,’ said I.
    ‘Yes,
I too am innocent,’ said Elizabeth.
    ‘And
me,’ said father. ‘And we are all of us innocent. Does that make you feel
better?’
    ‘Dearest
niece,’ said my innocent father, ‘dry your tears. If she is Justine, as you
believe, she will have to rely on the justice of our laws.’
    ‘I
tell you,’ I said, ‘that murderer had his trousers down, was eating fish paste
sandwiches and travelling 100 miles per hour.’
    ‘Of
course he was,’ said my father, helping me on with my straitjacket.

 
    She
related the evening of the night of the sailor
    I
think he was a sailor or it might have been a tailor
    ‘All
night I watched him go up and down on my bed
    By
dawn he fell off dead. ’
     

CHAPTER
VIII
     
     
     
    At
Justine’s court appearance I called out to the court from the witness box,
declaring that she was innocent, that the murderer was eight feet tall, with
his trousers down, travelling at 100 miles per hour and eating a fish paste
sandwich. She entered the court, threw her eyes around the room and then caught
them coming back.
    She
had been out the whole night with a sailor; the murder had been committed
towards morning. A woman asked her what she did and she said, ‘I did the
sailor.’ When another one enquired where she had passed the night she replied,
‘With a sailor.’
    A
murmur of indignation and disbelief filled the court and the street. As the
trial proceeded her countenance altered. One minute she was Tommy Cooper, then
Lon Chaney, then Jimmy Durante and, finally, Frank Bruno. She collected her
powers, then spoke in an audible although variable voice: she did Tom Jones,
Frank Sinatra and Paul McCartney.
    She
related the evening of the night of the murder. She had been at the house of an
aunt at Chêne with a sailor. On her return she met a sailor who asked her
‘Would you like a fuck dear?’ All through the night she watched him go up and
down. As dawn broke she awoke and the sailor rolled off her, dead. From the
back of the court I called out, ‘It was a giant with his trousers down, eating
a fish paste sandwich and travelling at 100 miles per hour.’ That is all I said
and for saying it they put me back in a straitjacket.
    Several
witnesses were called who said they had known her for many years. Many spoke
well of her but were unwilling to come forward, so they went backwards and
disappeared out of the court. During her service with us she was the most
benevolent of human creatures. In her last illness she nursed Madam
Frankenstein until it killed her. But public indignation had returned with
renewed violence against her, with blackest ingratitude.
    I
perceived the countenances of the judges and they had already condemned my
unhappy victim. I rushed out of the court in agony and was run over by a bus. I
felt I had never before experienced such sensations of horror — not since I saw Don’t Forget Your Tooth Brush. Words cannot convey an idea, only things
like fork, hippo, nut cutlet, couch, tree, but none of them convey the
heart-sickening despair.
    ‘Yes,’
said Elizabeth, ‘we will go and visit her in jail and you, Victor, shall
accompany me.’ (‘Oh fuck.’) ‘I cannot go alone.’
    The
idea of this visit was