<blockquote>"The punch was not as potent as one party Rosalie had heard of where the guess all passed out and had to be piled up in the basement, but everyone was about three sheets to the wind and listing about the first floor of the house wherever the zeitgeist blew them. Attempts by the Conservatory students at playing Romantic waltzes had disintegrated into the eclectic melody of ‘I got stuck in the moving sixths’ by the first violinist, ‘what the hell happened to my bow,’ by the second violinist, ‘what are arms’' by the viola player, and ‘what is consciousness’' by the cellist."
Or, rather, Bahorel meets his laughing mistress at a crazy, counter-culture bouzingo party, and negotiates a pleasant series of social contracts.</blockquote>