Gant the Far-Wanderer

With the recent development of automatically generated stories to disguise spam, it's generally the case that the story is more interesting than the message itself. Take this example... I especially like the word "graysmuttiness".

From: Felice Kim <nkqe@gforu.com>
Subject: seat belt
Date: Fri, 15 Jul 2006 10:47

Thus came he home, who had put out to land westward, Gant the Far-Wanderer.

The car still climbing, mounted the flimsy cheap-boarded brown-graysmuttiness of Skyland Avenue. The little boat glass-bottomed, so you could look down.

As the car moved eastward again, Gant caught an angular view of Niggertown across this passage. Their feet thudded almost simultaneously upon the floor. There was a warm electric smell and one of hot burnt steel. Georgia marble, sandstone base, forty dollars.

Why, he was a big healthy man in the prime of life, said Gant. Duncan watched butter soak through a new-baked roll.

He looked as if he had never known a days sickness in his life. He saw Duncan come out on his porch, shirtsleeved, and pick up the morning paper. The Square had the horrible concreteness of a dream. Cold ashes were strewn thinly in the grate.

The children, staring, but relieved, settled slowly back in their places.
In the name of God, Woman, what are we coming to?
But they kept the mystery caged between them.

Why, Aleck, I said, I dont much expect him before the first of April. It all comes to the same in the end, anyway. It all comes to the same in the end, anyway. Yes, it does look pretty bad, she would remark.

A negro bellboy sleepily wafted a gray dust-cloth across the leather.

In the great frame was already stirring the chemistry of pain and death. These they would paint; or in Spring a spray of cherry-blossom, a tulip. She lifted up her skirts as she stepped down.

Thought I hadnt seen you, said the motorman. The Square in the wan-gray frozen morning walled round him with frozen unnatural smallness.

These they would paint; or in Spring a spray of cherry-blossom, a tulip.
The little boat glass-bottomed, so you could look down.
Keep your damned dirty hoof out of my mouth.
If it ever lands on you, you bastard, you'll think it is a mules, said Gil.

I might have known that it would come to this! She lifted up her skirts as she stepped down.

Thus came he home, who had put out to land westward, Gant the Far-Wanderer. He made it two years after Eliza's return from St.