Announc'd by Nasal Telegraph, in come the Twins, bearing the old Pewter Coffee-Machine venting its Puffs of Vapor, and a large Basket dedicated to Saccharomanic Appetites, piled to the Brim with fresh-fried Dough-Nuts roll'd in Sugar, glaz'd Chestnuts, Buns, Fritters, Crullers, Tarts.
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Line 12 Vulgarized:
The twins, huffing and puffing due to the exertion (or maybe they're just blowing snot out of their noses, or trumpeting through their nostrils as they march in the extravagant feast. I think we're allowed some imaginative subjective interpretations here), haul a steaming hot coffee machine along with a basket full of sweet doughy snacks for those guests with tooths for sugar.
Subtext:
Thomas Pynchon was fucking hungry when he wrote this and he hoped to make readers hungry too. He also might have been flexing a bit: "Yeah, I researched all the sweet dough food available to the Saccharomanic in 1786. Go ahead! Check up on me. Pshaw. I know you won't because I own you. You believe everything I say now, you maggots."
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