CHAPTER XIII
Doda now. Her turn. The less said the better. But one must say something. Say—Doda, then, baby girl, tiny daughter. That’ll do to start it.
Say—look, there she is! She’s fourteen. Look, there she is! She’s sixteen. Look, there she is! She’s eighteen. That’ll help out a bit.
Say—Dances. Untidiness. Powder on her nose. No Jonah in her head. That’ll do to fill in.
Say—look, there she is! She’s dead. That’ll finish her.
The less said, the better.
Strike two!
CHAPTER XIV
And Benji. Look, there he is. Benji! Look, there’s the Benji one! Not much to look at, Benji. Mostly spectacles, the darling. Her Benji! He’s at school, is Benji. He’s at his books. He gets prizes. Harry idolizes him, weeps over him. Rosalie, too, though a woman. Her wee one. One should have mentioned that his name was Benji.
Little Benji collides with a train. It isn’t a fair match. Benji was outclassed. The train and Benji weren’t in the same class at all. A bicycle would have sufficed.