Driblets? Driblets? Now who pronounced it that way? Who? Who? A dripping ewes-dropper in a dream? Did the orphans live?’ But we must listen to Lucette.
‘I meant
the real Tapper,’ cried Lucette (who was making a complete mess of her visit),
‘not my poor, betrayed, poisoned, innocent teacher of music, whom not even
‘Driblets,’ said
Van.
‘Not
necessarily his,’ said Lucette. ‘His wife’s lover played the triple viol.
Look, I’ll borrow a book’ (scanning on the nearest bookshelf The Gitanilla,
Clichy Clichés, Mertvago Forever, The Ugly New Englander) ‘and curl up,
komondi, in the next room for a few minutes, while you — Oh, I adore
The Slat Sign.’