Nor when Franko started from his arm to declaim a passage, did he do other than make limp efforts to unite himself to Franko again.

A further sign of immense depression in him was that instead of the creative, it was the critical faculty he exercised, and rather than reply to Franko in his form of speech, he scanned occasional lines and objected to particular phrases.
He had clearly exchanged the sanguine for the bilious temperament, and was fast stranding on the rocky shores of prose.

Franko bore this very well, for he, like Raikes in happier days, claimed all the glances of lovely woman as his own, and on his right there flowed a stream of Beauties.

At last he was compelled to observe: 'This change is sudden: wherefore so downcast?
With tigrine claw thou mangiest my speech, thy cheeks are like December's pippin, and thy tongue most sour!' 'Then of it make a farce!' said Raikes, for the making of farces was Franko's profession.

'Wherefore so downcast! What a line! There! let's walk on.