560

Young Loomis again donned the gown of a bright pupil and I, my mortarboard, as we headed back to the School of Life.  The reluctant scholar had been asked a relatively simple thing: to collect a cadaver or cadavers for the chassis of Adam’s prospective mate.  Need he kill anyone?  No.  Need he sever the limb from a functioning member of society?  Again, I say no.  But the scamp was in no mood to break an honest sweat, and so I took out the hickory stick of causality and explained that Adam would no doubt hold him responsible for the delay, and just as Miss Winters was my Achilles’ Heel, so would Miss Evans serve as such for the fearing frosh.

Doctor Hoffman was not quite the stalwart teachers’ aide I had hoped, but Young Loomis seems to be on-task, anyway, so all is well.

Class dismissed!

BC

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