... for she has given unto me the most fucking fantastic piece of literature ever written by mortal hand.
Those of you who were there when she presented this gift to me may have thought you understood its sheer, galactic levels of awesomeness. But oh holy mother of Bel-Shamharoth were you wrong.
I speak, of course, of Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters
... towards one of these hills did Marianne and Margaret one memorable morning direct their steps, attracted by the rare appearance of sunshine in the claustrophobic gloom of their surroundings. Margaret was insistent on trekking to the centre of the island to ascend Mount Margaret and find the source of the column of steam she still swore she had seen, and Marianne was pleased to oblige. This opportunity, however, was not tempting enough to draw the others from their pencil and their book; Mrs Dashwood sat composing short verses about sailors dying of influenza, whilst Elinor drew again and again a cryptic five-pointed symbol that had appeared to her in a fever dream on the night they first arrived in the islands.
CTHULIAN FUCKING AUSTEN, PEOPLE.