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It was a dark and stormy night. | Bulwer-Lytton and his chums were all drunk, and the other pontificates were nowhere to be found. | Knowing full well what this meant, Bulwer-Lytton rose unsteadily to his feet and gave the rallying cry: | "I shall find the rest or you shall kill me unmercifully!" | He charged out of the pub, into the wind-ravaged street. The rain pelted him as he looked wildly around for the traitor, but he had the creeping suspicion that his drunken escapades left him sorely ill-timed. The Viscountess would be disappointed.