I said...

I said i’d quite like to have it - when i have a house of my own. I said the wood was pleasant - the writing burnt into the back added character. I said i’d like to sit and compose letters from it - on the writing table of a proper author. Yet this is the very table you penned your crude dictionaries on.

So forget what i said. I hate the books you wrote. Your pen inked language that i can not even bare to hear; language that torments my mind. So forget what i said. I don’t want your table anymore.