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"This tenth day of August, 1760, the wretched Raton gave me the what-d'-you-call-it: reader, beware." I was almost tempted to believe in miracles, for I could not think there were two Ratons in the same house. I returned gaily to my room and found my sweetheart in bed without her chemise.
I happened to meet Bobbie in Piccadilly, and he asked me to come back to dinner at the flat. And, like a fool, instead of bolting and putting myself under police protection, I went. When we got to the flat, there was Mrs. Bobbie looking well, I tell you, it staggered me. Her gold hair was all piled up in waves and crinkles and things, with a what-d'-you-call-it of diamonds in it.
"This tenth day of August, 1760, the wretched Raton gave me the what-d'-you-call-it: reader, beware." I was almost tempted to believe in miracles, for I could not think there were two Ratons in the same house. I returned gaily to my room and found my sweetheart in bed without her chemise.
I say, this is a what-d'-you-call-it cure." "So the man said." "Homeopathic. It's made from the pollen that causes hay-fever. Yes. Ah, yes." I coughed slightly and looked at Beatrice out of the corner of my eye. "I suppose," I said carelessly, "if anybody took this who HADN'T got hay-fever, the results might be rather I mean that he might then find that he-in fact, er HAD got it."
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