He followed. Ma received him in the hall.
“I’m seventeen come Sunday, fol-de-lol,”
She trilled untruly, pouring out the tea
From leadless teapot into leadless cups.
Then, “fol-de-lol-de-fol-de-diddle-dee,”
—Handing nut tabloids to the waiting pups.
And more, about the “wraggle gipsies, O.”
Jones murmured, “Pray excuse me. I must go.
I think I am unwell ... the walk too much.
Proteid? No thank you. No, I never touch