What Ho!
With tormented soul, you stroll about, kicking the ground sporadically as you go. Pacing in a disconsolate fashion by the stream bank, you look at the the assorted rocks strewn about. You can't help but wonder if any are large enough to drown yourself with.
While you pause in thought, a high pitched bubbling giggle reaches your ears. It seems to be coming from that nearby copse. You stealthfully crawl through the nearby bushes to listen.
"Oh, oh, Sir Robert, please eat some more. You are ZO thin! You have barely touched ze fondants de poisson au beurre de citron," the woman's voice chides in a heavy french accent.
"And dashed fine fondant's they is, dearie," rumbles the unmistakable voice of the Burton-on-Trent. "But I've scarely got room."
"Not ee-van for zese little bitty petits pots de chocolat crème? I put ever zo much love into them."
"Well, I suppose I've always got room in my guts for your love, dearie," chortles Sir Bob.
You feel ill, and start to edge away when you step on a branch, loudly snapping it in half.
"Oooooh! Sir Robert, what was zat?" cries the terrified girl.
"I've got it dear heart," he says boomingly. You hear a "whoosh" sound followed by an all too close "thump!" as a large knife appears in a tree next to you.
"Probably just a wild boar, sweetness. Still got them 'round here, you know. Nothing to the warthog, of course. D---, I think I missed the creature," he mutters as you scurry off through the underbrush.
"Oh, Robert, you ARE zo ze brave man!" exclaims the french girl, followed by more giggling and sounds of rustling in the brush.
You cannot leave fast enough.
While you pause in thought, a high pitched bubbling giggle reaches your ears. It seems to be coming from that nearby copse. You stealthfully crawl through the nearby bushes to listen.
"Oh, oh, Sir Robert, please eat some more. You are ZO thin! You have barely touched ze fondants de poisson au beurre de citron," the woman's voice chides in a heavy french accent.
"And dashed fine fondant's they is, dearie," rumbles the unmistakable voice of the Burton-on-Trent. "But I've scarely got room."
"Not ee-van for zese little bitty petits pots de chocolat crème? I put ever zo much love into them."
"Well, I suppose I've always got room in my guts for your love, dearie," chortles Sir Bob.
You feel ill, and start to edge away when you step on a branch, loudly snapping it in half.
"Oooooh! Sir Robert, what was zat?" cries the terrified girl.
"I've got it dear heart," he says boomingly. You hear a "whoosh" sound followed by an all too close "thump!" as a large knife appears in a tree next to you.
"Probably just a wild boar, sweetness. Still got them 'round here, you know. Nothing to the warthog, of course. D---, I think I missed the creature," he mutters as you scurry off through the underbrush.
"Oh, Robert, you ARE zo ze brave man!" exclaims the french girl, followed by more giggling and sounds of rustling in the brush.
You cannot leave fast enough.