In the end, the sisters on the bed with the two young
men, the General and the nun he was riding, together with the chap in his
backside and, last but not least, the sister with her Murano prodder, all
decided to come together like a choir singing in unison or, more aptly,
the blacksmith hammering in time, each attending to their own business
until all that was heard was: 'Oh God, oh Christ.' 'Hold me!' 'Ream me!'
'Push your sweet tongue out!' 'Really give it to me!' 'Harder!' 'Hold on,
I'm coming!' 'Sweet Christ, shove it to me.' 'Holy Father.' 'Hug me!' and
'Help!' Some were whispering, others were groaning loudly. To listen to
them you would have thought they were practising their scales - so, fah,
me, ray, doh. Their eyes were popping out of their heads. Their groans
and gasps, their twists and turns made the chests, beds, chairs and chamber
pots shake and rattle like the house had been hit by an earthquake.