H.P.LOVECRAFT: What the devil is THAT?
CLARK ASHTON SMITH: It’s a wallaby, Howard.
HPL: A wallaby? How abominable. Such a coarse, vacant-eyed beast! Its bristly body seems distorted into a squamous, alien shape, and a mephitic stench arises from its foul brood-sac.
CAS: I think it’s cute.
HPL: And yet…. There is an air of twisted, degenerate humanity about it. That posture, so upright, in mocking imitation of our own! Clarke, tell me truly, can wallabies and humans interbreed?
CAS: I don’t believe it’s ever been tried.
HPL: Not tried? Not tried? Oh, but God help me, it has!
CAS: Are you feeling all right?
HPL: I can see it now, however much I wish I couldn’t. My own dear grandmother was a secret wallaby.
CAS: I thought you said she was a newt?
HPL: She was a wallaby, I tell you. And that tainted blood runs within my own veins. I am cursed, Clarke, cursed to become… THAT!
CAS: I keep telling you, Howard. You’re not cursed, you’re just different.
HPL: Even now, I can feel the wallaby rising within me. Hark, can you hear it? “Sproing, sproing!”
CAS: Shall I get your straitjacket?
HPL: That would be helpful. Who knows what I might do when the curse comes upon me?