“Stephen,” said George, the next day, “We’ve been fucking about these past few months, have we not?”
“We have?”
“That’s correct, Stephen, we have. I can see now that you’re fit for the job. And so we begin.”
“What?” Stephen didn’t understand.
“And so we begin.
“What?” George had not clarified.
“AND SO WE BEGIN! What the fuck’s the matter with you?”
“What do we begin precisely?”
“Have I taught you nothing? Never, ever, under any circumstances answer a question with a question when questioned by me, for I am Salamander George.”
“Okay.”
George was of portentous mind that morning. He had business on it.
“And so we begin.”
“What precisely do we begin?”
“The Baiting of the Marshfish.”
“Ah. Yes. That”
“So I shall send you off immediately.”
“Immediately?”
“No. Not immediately. But soon, my lamb, soon.”
2 comments:
HAve you ever had the inkling to finish Marshfish off?
(I have never written 'inkling' down before so I haven't the foggiest how to spell it)
Not finishing it off, but rather starting it again; that's certainly something I intend, though admittedly it's on the intention back burner. Back burn intentions.
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