A week from tonight, I think, and ye must come. Morgenstern and I-he sends his regards, by the way- are planning another dinner party, if we can coax the university scientists away from their research for the CIA. Marcel ‘ Bunny’ LeFever has successfully buried his Uncle Luc and has aimed his wondrous nose again in our direction. Ye know what I mean?” “All too well.” “I do have good news.
I would have called ye but ye haven’t a phone.” “ Don’t mock the afflicted.” “Or I would’ve dropped by, except I’ve been to New Orleans to deliver a certain vegetable. As fortunate as I am to be born an Irishman and thus possess a license to broadcast this brand o’ pseudolyrical bullshit, that’s how fortunate I am that you-I mean, ye- called.
I couldn’t be happier was Alobar to be released from the nick, which, indeed, he may be next month, if it’s not too late. I couldn’t be happier was I to grow another eye, one that shines in the night like a wolfs eye and can twist on its stalk to look up a lassie’s skirt.
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