Tuesday, May 27, 2008

The Nine Tailors: Apologies To Dorothy L. Sayers.

Where WAS that blighter? She thought, annoyed. He had gone hours ago. Taking a walk, my foot, she thought. Off running around with the milkmaid is more like it. Perhaps he'd come if she rang the emergency bells. The smallest one, right above her head, clanged in a high pitch. The great one, above the rafters, boomed mightily across the Fens.

Unbeknownst to Phyllis, her husband had actually been up in the rafters above her very head, under the great bell, taking a nap. The volume of the sound was so loud that it caused his head to explode from the pressure, and still, she stood there, ringing that great and wonderful iron beast, wondering. Wondering.

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