But at this point fickle Kismet, who for a day had played with him bitterly and sardonically, decided to reward him in full for the amusement he had afforded her. Kismet turned the tawny eyes of the snake-charmer to the camel. Kismet led her to lean toward the man beside her and say, Who's that? That camel?

But that wasn't what gave him the whim-whams so bad here. In the clearing, no more than ten feet away, stood a little stone cherub atop a fancy grave marker maybe three feet high.

Now that I was used to them, they seemed just as limited as myself. Being different made no difference. How about whining like Dylan, or even a Jaggerish pout?

Cheerio, everybody! What a delightful gathering of charming femininity!