And then the rats, as big as big steamships, back and forth, back and forth. A whole bellyful, Aslan, it turned my stomach, Aslan. They’ve visited me again, Aslan, as big as gothic letters, up and down the wall of my heart, Aslan, up and down, and the Latin letters too, as green and thick as creepers. They’ve been here again, Aslan, the big black ones, do you hear. Wacholder warmed his hands on the lukewarm tea. Aslan can do what he likes, I’m here to work. Leo jumped out of bed again (has he gone plumb crazy?) and picked at his molar with satisfaction as Aslan obediently brought down his own tea. Nine o’clock, eh? Wacholder was now able to shout, so he shouted. Aslan called him Father because of the difference in their ages and in token of devotion and gratitude. Have you been watching me again while I was asleep? Have you been spying on me, you scum? You’re living by my sufferance, remember that. Slowly and heavily, a hippopotamus rising from the Nile, he rose from the paper mountain, beat the nightmare of virginal lewdness out of his clothes and stood there, a squat man of sixty with short gray hair and swollen lips, crossing his hands over his forehead, and looked around him darkly.
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