155 The ringing doorbell jarred her from her stupor. "Mother, I come to you. This was Blueskin, who burst through the trees, and sword in hand assaulted the thief-taker. From the centre of the ceiling hung a replica of the temple lamp in the Taj Mahal. He was so horny that he could probably make love to a tree. In the rush of commuters he did not see her boarding his train. There it was—to be borrowed. “I am much obliged to you,” he said. The metrical irregularity is intentional, because I want, as it were, to put you apart: to change the lilt and the mood altogether when I speak of you. “I am dying to renew my acquaintance with London, Mrs. Pah!’ She flounced about and, crossing to the bed, plonked down on it, pointedly averting her face and resting the large pistol in her lap. Their small talk continued.
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