Paul tried desperately to translate and the driver resisted taking advice from a Slip of a Lass or whatever the French is for Slip of a Lass, I’m sure the direct translation in any language is more or less “Featherbrain,” as it’s what I get called whenever I’m expected not to be able to do whatever it is—fly a plane, load a gun, make a bomb—fix a car—so we lost fifteen minutes arguing.
