Having finished the first draft of a novel a few months back, I am now slowly but surely whittling my memoir, The Accidental Terrorist, down to its fighting weight. This means chopping out certain scenes I'm very fond of, but which don't fit the focus and tone of the revised manuscript.
Here's one of those scenes I'm sorry to see go, surgically excised and preserved under glass for your inspection.
"You want to see my what?" said Elder Vickers, assuming that expression of shock and disgust he feigned so well.