“I was wunnerin’ when ya was gonna fall asleep, Pup. Mos’ only last a few seconds in there, I guess you’re made a’ sterner stuff than the rest. I wasn’t tole to expect that.”
Waking with a startling lack of grogginess, she found herself in an utterly nondescript box of a room, with blank walls and blank impressions. “Alright nah, Pup, I ain’t never got past this part, I git this far and then I just get kilt, but mebbe this time’ll be dif’rent, I never did like ta start life over ag’in.” Francine realizes that Master is wise beyond his race, and this flabby vessel housing his conscious must be a guise, a perfect camouflage employed by something far greater than mere Man. “We might as well git back ta sleepin’, Pup, it’s gon’ be a while yet, and we need all the rest we can git.”
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