Hair jet black, but a paucity of it; Forehead high as the Eiffel tower; Prominent nose, but it’s mine; I love it; Eyes the brown of the pansy flower; Medium mouth, not the best for kisses; Chin as round as a billiard ball; Dark complected⁠—Oh, Mister, this is Me, and I’m better than six feet tall.

“What est the numéro of the engine?”

“Four hundred and fifty-six thousand three hundred and four,” I replied sans batting an eyelash.

He took it down and disappeared into an adjoining room. In a little while he returned with a license plate⁠—secondhand to match the car.