But, Apollo urging him, Maurice would finish:
| "When they said: 'You're our fate,' |
| She replied, 'It's too late.' |
| So they went away sad and grew skinny." |
"Lunatic!" she said. "And don't talk about getting thin. Look at me. Nothing but skin and grief."
"Nonsense," said Maurice, and went on rhyming:
| "There was a young lady said: 'What! |
| My figure is going to pot.'" |
And then two more lines that will have to be filled in like your figure, and then:
"They all of them said: 'No it's not.'"
"Well, you're not much more than a rasher of wind yourself," commented Jenny.
"Ha! ha!" shouted Maurice. "That's good. Hullo, here's Trafalgar Square. Aren't we going a pace down Whitehall? Jenny, there aren't any words for what I feel."
He hugged her close.