“My dear boy,” she exclaimed. He was not, it seemed, the proper stipendiary at all, and there had been some demur to his jurisdiction that had ruffled him. The sun was setting when she carried the metal garbage can to the curb with their remains in it, where they sat underneath the stale chocolate cake that Sheila had thrown away and a pile of mildewy lettuce. But her cries, instead of moving her assailant's compassion, only added to his fury. But he's witty and amusing, and when reasonably drunk he can play the piano like a Paderewski. He seemed to be trying to understand something very perplexing and elusive.
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