| Miss Marilla Huxley |
[24 Apr 2003|04:05pm] |
The doctor threw away his kite and walked home.
Arriving at the main gate to his manor, the doctor noticed several of his young asian help crying. He figured a priceless vase or harpsichord had been damaged, but this was not true.
"Doctor, have you heard?" asked his receptionist even though he hadn't, as she should have known. "Miss Marilla Huxley," she gasped.
"Spit it out, you bumbling idiot!" the doctor advised.
"She's gone!"
"Gone? She didn't have an appointment today. What sort of nonsense are you spewing, girl?" the doctor asked.
"She dead, sir," replied his receptionist.
"Oh yeah?" asked the doctor.
"Her mother was taking her on a holiday to the mountains by rail, but the train derailed while passing over a large cranberry bog."
"The Northern Bog?" asked the doctor.
"No, the Eastern Bog, with its vipers and vultures."
The doctor paused and polished his flask. There was a pleasant breeze coming through his bedroom window. He was downstairs in the foyer, however.
"But my harpsichord is fine, correct?"
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