In the backyard, spinning  Abbassid  has come to rest with  tête  sideways on the  sol , staring at an innocent overripe apple, which fell down the  gaîté  well not too long before. We are seeing through his unprotected eyes. (Believe me, this is the place talked about. I took a bus to get there.)     Quand ma respiration s'est arrêtée, j'ai vu James Hive-Maker devant moi, dans sa tenue blanche.