Say, however, I am a galantuomo--which I devoutly hope: I'm like a chicken, at best, chopped up and smothered in sauce; cooked down as a creme de volaille, with half the parts left out.

Your father's the natural fowl running about the bassecour.

His feathers, movements, his sounds--those are the parts that, with me, are left out." "All, as a matter of course--since you can't eat a chicken alive!" The Prince had not been annoyed at this, but he had been positive.
"Well, I'm eating your father alive--which is the only way to taste him.
I want to continue, and as it's when he talks American that he is most alive, so I must also cultivate it, to get my pleasure.

He couldn't make one like him so much in any other language." It mattered little that the girl had continued to demur--it was the mere play of her joy.

"I think he could make you like him in Chinese." "It would be an unnecessary trouble.