The men have never had so much work to do since they banded. ‘Now then, girl. Who but you would have dreamed of giving the boy such a name? Why, it's the name of a river, not a Christian. She imagined herself on a barren 41 plain, post-Apocalypse, convulsing, waiting to die with the cockroach. Don't suppose," she added, with a scornful glance at her helpmate, "that I would pay him the compliment of thinking he could possibly be the father of such a boy as you. And Pottiswick, of course.
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