‘Some taxi driver, a Maghrebian…he suddenly swerved. They smoke kief, you know.’

Nothing is now heard but the ticking of a quaint old timepiece on the summit of a bookcase. Ten minutes pass; he captures her knight; she takes his knight, and looks a very Rhadamanthus.

Excellent, when your truck is blown over and you are horribly injured, refuse all assistance on the grounds that you knew better. Oh hang on, no, you'll do what all the other truckwits who ignored the warnings did, blubber like a baby and scream for help.

One of us must marry well. Meg didn't, Jo won't, Beth can't yet, so I shall, and make everything okay all round.