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End Notes - The Perilous Point by A.J. Hall

I was made aware at quite a late stage in the beta reading process that there is another fic which uses the same quotation in the title, and which is written by Natasha Simonova posted at .

On being made aware of this I did give serious consideration to alternatives, but by that stage the quotation had buried itself in the imagery. My apologies for the unintended duplication.

For Chapter 1

Here then at home, by no more storms distrest,
Folding laborious hands we sit, wings furled;
Here in close perfume lies the rose-leaf curled,
Here the sun stands and knows not east nor west;
Here no tide runs; we have come, last and best,
From the wide zone in dizzying circles hurled
To that still centre where the spinning world
Sleeps on its axis, to the heart of rest.

Lay on thy whips, O Love, that me upright
Poised on the perilous point, in no lax bed
May sleep, as tension at the verberant core
Of music sleeps; for, it thou spare to smite,
Staggering, we stoop, stooping, fall dumb and dead,
And, dying so, sleep our sweet sleep no more.

Dorothy L. Sayers: Gaudy Night - In the context of the novel the first eight lines of the sonnet are taken to have been written by Harriet Vane; the remaining six by Lord Peter Wimsey.

As the judge remarked the day that he acquitted my Aunt Hortense/To be smut it must be ut-/terly without redeeming social importance.
Tom Lehrer: Smut

The uniform ‘e wore
Was nothin’ much before,
And rather less than ‘arf o’ that behind,
For a piece of twisty rag
And a goatskin water bag
Was all the field-equipment he could find.

Rudyard Kipling: Gunga Din

“Mon cher cousin!”

“Good grief! Adrienne!” He reciprocated the cheek-kissing routine with, Harry suspected, strictly limited enthusiasm, adding with patent insincerity, “ravi de te revoir.”

“Moi aussi. Et comment sont les derniers primeurs de Moissac? Puisqu’il paraît que c’est à toi depuis que ta grand-mère l’a volé à sa soeur?”

“Pareil que les années précédentes, une bibine infecte. Pas étonnant, on dit bien que le raisin prend son goût du vigneron qui l’a planté. N’est-ce pas, cousine?”

Loose translation of French:

“My dear cousin!”

“How wonderful to see you again.”

“And me to see you, too.  And how’s the latest vintage from Moissac coming along?  You know: that vineyard your grandmother nicked from her own sister?”

“A sour wine, like always.  But then they say grapes take their flavour from the person who planted them.  That’s true, isn’t it, cousin?”

“Draco? Tu voulais une invitation à notre mariage? Mais tu n’avais qu’à me le demander!”

“Draco?  You were pining for an invite to our wedding?  But you only had to ask!”

For Chapter 2

Oh the shark has pretty teeth dear
And he shows them pearly white
Just a jack-knife has our Mac-heath dear
And he keeps it out of sight.

Brecht/Weill: The Threepenny Opera

Je renierais ma patrie
Je renierais mes amis
Si tu me le demandais

(I would betray my friends
I would betray my country
If you asked me to)

L’hymne à  L’amour. Lyrics: Léon Durocher. Music: Gustave Goublier - A song popularised by Edith Piaf.