He moaned. “Is there any urgency?” The doctor bent over his patient, who seemed to have fallen asleep. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. All of us were fussy, colicky babies from what she tells me. You call it a lot of nicknames—“Babs” and “Bibs” and “Viddles” and “Vee”; you whack at it playfully, and it whacks you back.
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