Tristram Shandy

As Yorick pronounced the word point blank, my uncle Toby rose up to say something upon projectiles—when a single word, and no more, uttered form the opposite side of the table, drew every one’s ears towards it—a word of all others in the dictionary the last in that place to be expected—a word I am ashamed to write—yet must be written—must be read;—illegal—uncanonical—guess ten thousand guesses, multiplied into themselves—rack—torture your invention for ever, you’re where you was—In short, I’ll tell it in the next chapter.