As per the norm several ne’er do wells absconded or absented themselves on hearing of my visit so it was just a small ***********ion which needed to be assessed. “She’s mad sir,” Matron said, “Her doctor diagnosed Nympho Manier the inflammation of the Lymph Nodes.”
“Nymphomania is nothing of the sort Matron,” I exclaimed for though scanty my knowledge of medicine at least extended far enough to discern Nymphomaniac far from being a trial was something much prized in the bordellos of the Eastern Lands where we had recently been fighting, why one diseased Nymphomaniac had laid low half of B company with Egyptian Clap. “Oh god, it’s too much stop” she pleaded. “Well she won’t avoid a cock for long here,” I declared, “I am away to Manchester on the morrow so I shall take you with me and see if I can find a sympathetic Madam who will protect you and allow only the cleanest men to use you.”
“What, send me to a brothel?” she gasped.
