If you invite me over for supper, you must keep watch over your peppercorns! For if I turn the pepper-grinder once, you may be sure I will turn it twice; and if I turn it twice, I will be unable to resist turning it once more; dare I stop at four? five? ah! how sweet it is to lose count! to turn, turn without ceasing! oh! what is that pleasant aroma? how it steals my senses all away! ——
Unless, that is, you have sought my presence for the very purpose of getting rid of excess peppercorns! I am not aware that anyone has yet employed this tactic. — And what sort of person ever thinks to themself, "Hm! What has my kitchen in excess? Peppercorns!" —? I must admit this is improbable.
— Then why should the thought enter my head? Do I not concern myself daily with the probable above all else? Am I, perhaps, unconsciously drawn to the notion? Dare I admit that I find it desirable — nay, delectable — to think on it: "Oh, Three Dots! My house is whelmed with the aroma of pepper — my nose cannot tolerate it! Here — the blandest soup — the plainest fish! Grind, oh, grind these horrid corns without ceasing! Consume them with haste!"