FIFTEEN
THE PROFESSOR
The silence, subsequent to the ladies retiring to powder their noses, was palpable, just a gravelly groan from Pimple as he made to stand for the second time, having been knocked down, again, by his mother and his lover in their indecent haste to ablute in a monumental Parisian manner. Well, he knew all about that, but all the same he felt a sense of helpless abandonment; jilted, not valued, except by the Professor that is, who had leapt enthusiastically to assist Pimple to regain his left footing.
‘Professor…’ Pimple said in a friendly enquiring way, lest he offend this man who was helping him, ‘… I would not want you to think I do not appreciate your assistance and your caressing is certainly easing the odd bump and bruise, but can you tell me why you insist upon
