" We are going to hold a council instead," shouted the Chief Contractor, and drops of perspiration, big and pink as strawberries,
rolled down his mask.
Four times did we decline the gentle refreshment of limonade gazeuse, once did we sternly refuse to partake of strawberries,
and twice to purchase crystals.
Can he tell me why he spends time from the moon of breaking ice to the moon of strawberries
building a lodge of promises, and then when he is just ready to use the lodge blows it down with a breath?