From behind the headstone came the now ambiguous and epicene figure of the Wilbur twin, contorted to hold together the back of his waist.
"I can't button it," he said in deepest gloom.
"Here!" said the girl.
"Not you!" It seemed to him that this would somehow further degrade him.

At least another male should fasten this infamous thing about him.

When the buttoning was done he demanded the promised candy and lemon.

He glutted himself with the stimulant.

He had sold his soul and was taking the price.