“Pleased to eat you,” he responded, looking at her as though she was an agreeable discovery.
Small wonder, for Warble was so peachy and creamy, so sweet and delectable that she was a far more appetizing sight than most viands are. She smiled again—engagingly this time, too.
Thus in the Painted Vale of Huneker, Vamp and Victim beguiled the hours. Thus, and not in treacled cadences, intrigued Mariar and Sir Thomas in the back alley.
“Do you like it here?” asked the doctor.
“Yop. But sometimes I feel wasted—”
“You don't look wasted—”
“No—” after a hasty glance in the wall mirror.
“Don't you get sick of the sight of food?”
“Here, oh, no! I don't know any lovelier sight than our kitchens—yes, yes, sir, I'll get your pied frotatoes at oneth.”
When Warble was a bit frustrated or embarrassed, she often inverted her initials and lisped. It was one of her ways.