Read it through once

Patrice, home on furlough, lapped warm milk with me in the bar MacMahon. Son of the wild goose, Kevin Egan of Paris. My father’s a bird, he lapped the sweet _lait chaud_ with pink young tongue, plump bunny’s face. Lap, _lapin._ He hopes to win in the _gros lots_. About the nature of women he read in Michelet. But he must send me _La Vie de Jésus_ by M. Léo Taxil. Lent it to his friend.