Farewell,' She Said. 'i Hope You Hear

How's The Angel Of Death Supposed To Do His Job With Clipped Wings?

The Magician Was Studying Her Face With His Green Eyes. "your Face Is Wet," He Said Worriedly. "i Hope That's Spray. If You've Become Human Enough To Cry, Then No Magic In The World — Oh, It Must Be Spray. Come With Me. It Had Better Be Spray.

The Moon Was Gone, But To The Magician's Eyes The Unicorn Was The Moon, Cold And White And Very Old, Lighting His Way To Safety, Or To Madness.

Your Name Is A Golden Bell Hung In My Heart. I Would Break My Body To Pieces To Call You Once By Your Name.

The Tune Was Wailing And Mournful, Almost Flagrantly So, And The Total Effect Was Of A Heartbroken Piccolo Being Parted Forever From Its Bagpipe Lover.