'Well done,' said Vimes dutifully, dunking the figgin into the tea.
'There's three societies use it,' said Colon. He extracted his notebook. 'To wit, viz, The Ankh-Morpork Fine Art Appreciation Society, hem hem, the Morpork Folk-Dance and Song Club, and the Elucidated Brethren of the Ebon Night.'
'Why hem hem?' said Vimes.
'Well, you know. Fine Art. It's just men paintin' pictures of young wimmin in the nudd. The altogether,' explained Colon the connoisseur. 'The caretaker told me. Some of them don't even have any paint on their brushes, you know. Shameful.'
There must be a million stories in the naked city, thought Vimes. So why do I always have to listen to ones like these?
'When do they meet?' he said.
'Mondays, 7.30, admission ten pence,' said Colon, promptly. 'As for the folk-dance people-well, no problem there. You know you always wondered what Corporal Nobbs does on his evenings off?'
Colon's face split into a watermelon grin.
'No!' said Vimes incredulously. 'Not Nobby?'
'Yep!' said Colon, delighted at the result.
'What, jumping about with bells on and waving his hanky in the air?'
'He says it is important to preserve old folkways,' said Colon.
'Nobby? Mr Steel-toecaps-in-the-groin, I-was-just-checking-the-doorhandle-and-it- opened-all-by-itself ?''
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