He was an odd one, especially for a young man. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. ’ So saying, he pulled her forward, slipping her arms about his back. To simplify matters, he carried a coloured paper lantern upon which his license number was painted in Arabic numerals. ’ With an unexpected flush of pleasure, he recalled the girl’s antics. He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. Sebastian rose from the tomb.
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