"Have mercy, sirrah," Dagny begged, looking up at the shadowed face of the debauched Count Warty, "me bumhole is frightful sore and spattered." Tears tracked trails in the dirt of her urchin face.
Count Warty leaned over and spat into her open mouth. "You will do as a I say, bumwhore," he growled. His monocle fell from his one unruined eye and dangled, glittering in the flickering light from the coal gas streetlamps.
Dagny pulled up the hem of her tattered dress, exposing a dark thatch of damp pubic hair the size of a velocipede's seat. Count Warty reared back from the smell. He gestured with his cane for her to turn around, his tumescence already outlined against the fine cut of his trousers.