″Just Momo.″ The desk sergeant stroked his chin and looked aggrieved.
″See here, old timer, you'll have to do better than this. I'm trying to be helpful, but I can't file a report without your cooperation.
Better begin by telling me your own name.″ ″Beppo,″ said Beppo. ″Beppo what?″ ″Beppo Roadsweeper.″
″Your name, I said, not your occupation.″ ″It's both,″ Beppo explained patiently.
The desk sergeant put his pen down and buried his face in his hands. ″God give me strength!″ he muttered despairingly.
Why did I have to be on duty now, of all times?Then he straightened up, squared his shoulders, and gave the old man an encouraging smile.
All right,″ he said gently, as though humouring a child, ″I can take your personal particulars later.
Just tell me the whole story from start to finish.″ Beppo looked dubious. ″All of it?″
″Anything that's relevant,″ said the desk sergeant. ″I'm up to my eyes in work - I've got this whole stack of forms to complete by lunchtime,
and I'm just about at the end of my tether - but never mind that. Take your time and tell me what's on your mind.″
He sat back and closed his eyes with the air of a martyr at the stake. And Beppo, in his queer, roundabout way, recounted the whole story
from Momo's arrival on the scene and her exceptional gifts to the trial on the garbage dump, which he himself had witnessed.
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