Or you'll maybe be breaking your shins, tralala,
On things you don't happen to know.”
For there on the deck, smiling quaintly, sat Susannah! There, clasped, one in each of her arms, were Georgiana and Dolores!
Ram Nad rose silently. Martyred meekness was the foundation of his facial expression. Dignity and charity were its fringes and decorations. He went forward among the sailors.
Calm was restored. Susannah explained. She had thought that, if Ram Nad had put Georgiana and Dolores in some sort of place, and if he did the same thing to her, perhaps she would be in the same place, and why shouldn't she find them? Such was Susannah's logic, simple, yet transcendental. Questioned on the matter of being churned, she said that she began to feel very comfortable and soft, and then something like custard, and then like custard that was all around everywhere; that is, she was both custard herself and contained in custard; and so, reaching out in the custard of which she consisted, she caught hold of Georgiana and Dolores. So far Susannah. Such is all the evidence bearing on this singular event.
“Susannah,” I said, “I like your analysis. Do you happen to feel anything in the nature of a ballad beginning to—to root around inside you? Because—here is the point. This ballad, as it stands, of Georgiana and Dolores, you see——”
“That!” said Susannah, scornfully, “that's no good now. It isn't so.”