Bidding her neck and hands adieu Miss Douce
―Those things only bring out a rash, replied, reseated. I asked that old fogey in Boyd’s for something for my skin.
Miss Kennedy, pouring now fulldrawn tea, grimaced and prayed:
―O, don’t remind me of him for mercy’sake!
―But wait till I tell you, Miss Douce entreated.
Sweet tea Miss Kennedy having poured with milk plugged both two ears with little fingers.
―No, don’t, she cried.
―I won’t listen, she cried.
But Bloom?
Miss Douce grunted in snuffy fogey’s tone:
―For your what? says he.
Miss Kennedy unplugged her ears to hear, to speak: but said, but prayed again:
―Don’t let me think of him or I’ll expire. The hideous old wretch! That night in the Antient Concert Rooms.
She sipped distastefully her brew, hot tea, a sip, sipped sweet tea.
―Here he was, Miss Douce said, cocking her bronze head three quarters, ruffling her nosewings. Hufa! Hufa!
Shrill shriek of laughter sprang from Miss Kennedy’s throat. Miss Douce huffed and snorted down her nostrils that quivered imperthnthn like a shout in quest.