He thrusts his hands into his hair and pulls. "And meanwhile, you've done your best to--to--" Ugh. He's lounging around practically half-naked, in Feuilly's body.

Right. Feuilly sits down cautiously (banging a knee in the process, these legs are too long) and takes a deep breath in Bahorel's lungs. "The dogs don't seem to notice any difference. They weren't any help when Harry was a football player, either."