“Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. He, for his part, was trying to grasp the series of unexpected reactions that had so wrecked their tete-a-tete. His initial nervousness had already abated, and it took some valour to allow himself to become embroiled in Melusine’s crazy schemes. Papillon would have broken him down; anything tender would have sapped his will; and like as not he would have left the stool and rushed into the night.
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