Busted: Emunctory

To William F. Buckley, Jr. October 18, 1965
Dear Bill-elect, What the hell does emunctory mean? You have here gone too far, sir, even for Buckley. I even heard one Roman turn over distinctly in his grave as the word went by and whisper to his neighbor, “Does that ’emunctory’ come from the Greek?” Anyway, you’re just an old fraud. You offered to pay a week’s wages not to have to hear anyone who talks more predictable nonsense on the subject of foreign policy than myself. Sailor Bill, I come close to loving you here. When the hell did you ever earn a week’s wages, you bleeding plutocrat. Of course if you were really indicating you were ready to give up one-fifty-second of your yearly income, then I will go look for such an intellectual and split the swag with him. . . . Last, how is Patsy’s leg? I hope it’s back to everything original. Please give her my love, and let me know about dinner. We still have one to offer you. I expect you’ll find it easier after the election, but if you think we can plan anything before, fine, and fine again. Norman