: Now if I could just find my horsey ...
(1st assassin pops up behind rock.)
: Behind you!
(1st assassin disappears.)
: You're trying to play tricks on old Kingy, you naughty ...
There was a lot of crossing out, and a large blot. Tomjon threw it aside and selected another ball at random.
: Is this a (crossed out: duck knife) dagger I see (crossed out: behind beside in front of) before me, its (crossed out :beak) handle pointing at me my hand?
: I'faith, it is not so. (crossed out: Oh, no it isn't!)
: Thou speakest truth, sire. (crossed out: Oh, yes it is!)
Judging by the creases in the paper, this one had been thrown at the wall particularly hard. Hwel had once explained to Tomjon his theory about inspirations, and by the look of it a whole shower had fallen last night.
Fascinated by this insight into the creative processes, however, Tomjon tried a third discarded attempt:
: Faith, there is a sound without! Mayhap it is my husband returning! Quick, into the garderobe, and wait not upon the order of your going!
: Marry, but your maid still has my pantoufles!
Вы читаете Wyrd Sisters
