These sprang into bed with their breeches on.’”
At a friendly frolic once, a Candidate for Orders had waltzed her about to that.
She recalled Fräulein’s erudite query still:
“Pray, why did they not take off all like the others?”
And the young man’s significant reasons and elaborate suppositions, and Fräulein’s creamy tone as she said she quite understood.
Miss Sinquier turned a key.
S-s-s-st!
“Butter fingers.”
In a moment she must run.
Terrible to forgo her great tureen....