“‘Tis the Last Judgement’s fire must cure this place…

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… calcine its clods …” I muttered gloomily, though Browning was not thinking of kitchen shelves.

I had an outbreak of Usefulness, and in fact was genuinely useful (as well as being annoying).  Disheartened, though, as past a certain age and level of neglect kitchens become finally uncleanable:  the greasy steam seeps into every cranny, soaks into the cupboard doors, coats every tile and pipe, and, scrub as you may, the tackiness persists.  But at least the new owner should be able to find his sarcasm when he needs it.

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