An evil smell, faint and foul as the light, curled upwards sluggishly out of the canisters and from the stale crusted dung. Damn the dean of studies and his funnel! What did he come here for to teach us his own language or to learn it from us. Where, all this time, was Flora? When I put the question to Miles, he played on a minute before answering and then could only say: "Why, my dear, how do _I_ know?"--breaking moreover into a happy laugh which, immediately after, as if it were a vocal accompaniment, he prolonged into incoherent, extravagant song. It was a Firbolg in the borrowed cloak of a Milesian; and he thought of his friend Davin, the peasant student.
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