Immediately Victoria took off her headband that had a witch's hat on it and gave it to the girl. “Now you are a proper witch,” she said. The girl smiled and went out trunk or treating.
You do not think it until he comes through the door, carrying the empty toe-sack in one hand and the revolver in the other.
“Do you think Carl Sagan might be available?” There was a mass-facepalm. “No.” they chorused.
A penguin or a clucking hen logically might satisfy the ascertainable criteria of birdness but remain somehow inapt for excavating focal meanings.
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