Prunesquallor knew that by the third verse the strong, tasteless soporific which had dissolved in her wine would begin to take effect. He sat on the floor at her knees and, quelling a revulsion, he patted her hand.
'Queen bee,' he said, 'look at me, if you can. Through your midnight spectacles. It shouldn't be too dreadful - for one who had fed on horrors. Now, listen...' Irma's eyes were already beginning to close.
'It goes like this, I think. I called it 'The Osseous 'Orse'.'
Come, flick the ulna juggler-wise
And twang the tibia for me!
O Osseous 'orse, the future lies
Like serum on the sea.
Green fields and buttercups no more
Regale you with delight, no, no!
The tonic tempests leap and pour
Through your white pelvis ever so.
'Are you enjoying it, Irma?' She nodded sleepily.
Come, clap your scapulae and twitch
The pale pagoda of your spine,
Removed from life's eternal itch
What need for iodine?
The Osseous 'orse sat up at once
And clanged his ribs in biblic pride.
I fear I looked at him askance
Though he had naught to hide…
At this point the doctor, having forgotten what came next, turned his eyes once more to his sister Irma; she was fast asleep. The doctor rang the bell.
'Your mistress's maid; a stretcher; and a couple of men to handle it.' (A face had appeared in the doorway.) ''And' be rapid.' The face withdrew.
When Irma had been put to bed and her lamp had been turned low and silence swam through the house, the doctor unlocked the door of his study, entered and sank back into his arm-chair. His friable-looking elbows rested upon the padded arms.