TOBY-DOG _and_ KIKI-THE-DEMURE _sprawl on the hot
stone-flags, taking their after luncheon nap. The silence of Sunday
prevails, yet_ TOBY-DOG _is not asleep: the flies and a heavy luncheon
torment him. Hind-quarters flattened out frog-fashion, he drags himself
on his belly up to_ KIKI-THE-DEMURE _whose striped body is perfectly
quiet_.
TOBY-DOG
Are you asleep?
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (_purrs feebly_)
TOBY-DOG
Are you even alive? You're so flat! You look like the empty skin of a
cat.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (_in faltering tones_)
L-e-t--m-e--a-l-o-n-e....
TOBY-DOG
Not sick, are you?
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
No.... Let me alone. I'm asleep. I'm not even conscious of my body. What
torment to live with you! I've eaten, it's two o'clock, let's sleep.
TOBY-DOG
I can't. Something's made a ball in my stomach. It means to go down I
guess, but very slowly. And then,--these _flies_, these _flies_! The
eyes start out of my head at the sight of one of them. I'm all jaws,
bristling with terrible teeth (just hear them snap), yet the infernal
things escape me. Oh! my ears! Oh! my poor, sensitive, brown belly! My
feverish nose! There! .
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