He strode more languidly down the steps and slowly trotted across the floor. His song was a much more jaunty tune, more consonant heavy and structured than whatever flighty nursery rhyme Whirl had sung. It was also terribly, horrendously French. Oddly enough, Handy noticed Thorax was watching the unfolding scene pensively. He couldn’t blame her. He didn’t much like the thought of doing this with one banjaxed leg if he were in her place.