Tarare rises from his haunches to stand over the doctor. Very well, he says. I am exceedingly sorry, monsieur, for all the trouble I have caused you. Long live the Republic. And then, before the doctor can answer, he takes the water flask in his right hand and strikes the prone citizen-doctor once, hard, round the head.

piebald’s

That no one cares to hear of whatever dreams bloom like nepenthes in your sickly sleeping mind?

laughs derisively. Good to know, he says, that our

What’s a cunt? You, says the meneur.

He finds a tallow candle to eat, and proceeds to the gardens, chewing it like a carrot.

It is interesting to me how women—milliner, duchess, nun, whichever women you like—will put

priapic,

cynosure