“How is the Duck?” Peter blurts. “She told me about it. Luise.” Armand almost blurts back, “The Duck is excellent,” but wagering it is a religious question, replies, “I see the Duck seldom of late. Perhaps, by now, she has taken in her charge so many other Souls as troubl’d as my own, that there remains less time for me,— perhaps, as she has continu’d upon her own way, I have even pass’d altogether from her Care.” “But, Time, surely, by now, no longer matters to her?” Peter now curious, “— no longer passes the same way, I mean.” The Frenchman shrugs. “Yet we few, fortunate Objects of her
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