FAREWELL TO ALL THAT (7)
'So . . . Uncork the bottles and cut the cigars.'
'Have you said your goodbyes? (How I do love tatas)'
'What?' I replied.
The Priestess cleared her throat of phlegm, and said:
'Have you said au revoir, ciao, bis bald, see you soon? (It ain't - after all - like you're off to the moon.) Did they give you a party? Present you a gift?'
'Are you mad? They're just pleased that I'm off; that they're rid. . . Not a peep from the gods: not a thanks, no adieu. . .'
'Well, the gods have their own rules. You shouldn't feel sore.'
'Oh, sod off,' I said.
'Have you said your goodbyes? (How I do love tatas)'
'What?' I replied.
The Priestess cleared her throat of phlegm, and said:
'Have you said au revoir, ciao, bis bald, see you soon? (It ain't - after all - like you're off to the moon.) Did they give you a party? Present you a gift?'
'Are you mad? They're just pleased that I'm off; that they're rid. . . Not a peep from the gods: not a thanks, no adieu. . .'
'Well, the gods have their own rules. You shouldn't feel sore.'
'Oh, sod off,' I said.
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