![]() Granny's intellect needed something to do. Sometimes, of course, they didn't go bad. And she turned people into gingerbread and had a house made of frogs. They said you could hear her mad laughter a mile off, and of course, while mad laughter was always part of a witch's stock-in-trade in necessary circumstances, this was insane mad laughter, the worst kind. She'd become so good at magic that there wasn't room in her head for anything else. But Aliss, up until that terrible day, had terrorized the Ramtops. Pushed into her own stove by a couple of kids, and everyone said it was a damn' good thing, even if it took a whole week to clean the oven. She was probably an even more accomplished witch now than the infamous Black Aliss, and everyone knew what had happened to her at the finish. And Granny Weatherwax was pretty damn' powerful. She knew it happened, with the really powerful ones. She wasn't at all sure that her friend wasn't. ![]() well, the point was that Nanny Ogg was worried. 'Mm?' said Granny, still staring moodily at the fire. 'Take you out of yourself, sort of thing.' Nanny went on, watching her friend carefully. 'I thought it'd cheer you up, coming up here,' she said after a while. There was no sound for a while but the roar of the wind and the sound of Nanny Ogg cutting bread, which she did with about as much efficiency as a man trying to chainsaw a mattress. I'll do it myself, shall I? 'Hah!' said Granny Weatherwax, staring into the fire. And I'd have said, "Next Wednesday." ' 'Sorry, Esme.' 'Just you cut me another slice.' Nanny Ogg nodded, and turned her head. You could've just asked me in a normal voice. ![]() Doesn't roll off the tongue, though.' 'I'd just got it nice and brown, too.' 'Sorry.' 'Anyway, you didn't have to shout.' 'Sorry.' 'I mean, I ain't deaf. A rather more ordinary voice said: 'What'd you go and shout that for? You made me drop my toast in the fire.' Nanny Ogg sat down again. An eldritch voice shrieked: 'When shall we. Among the hissing furze bushes a fire blazed, the flames driven this way and that by the gusts. Lightning prodded the crags like an old man trying to get an elusive blackberry pip out of his false teeth. I can best repay their kindness by not mentioning their names here. ![]() DEDICATION My thanks to the people who showed me that opera was stranger than I could imagine. ![]()
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