...and thought, smiling angelically, "Well, that's one lass who I don't need to worry about attractin' that big Mick, at least until her hair graws back (she pinched herself angrily for usin' the Braid Scots word), although I've nary an idea why I'm dreamin' on the man. Cor (she jammed herself in the leg with a nail file for lettin' slip a word she'd learned from a Cockney sailor), there's no way I could do anythin' for the man, as huge as he is...still, I can dream, can't I, can't I pretend that I'm locked in the bend of his embrace, for dreams are just like wine, and I am drunk with mine."

By this time the bald lass, moanin' pitifully, turned into the Vinegar on Cowchips pub, where she saw...