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. Tas took that as
approval and hiked back to the tree. Woodrow was waiting for him. "How
is Miss Hornslager?" he asked.
"I think she'll be all right," said Tas. "She just needs to rest
for a while. I think it was the nightshirt on the door latch that did
her in. It's too bad you missed it, Woodrow. Stuff was flying
everywhere. Boy, what a sight!"
"She'll never talk to me again," Woodrow moaned.
"I wouldn't blame her if she fired me and left me stranded here
with these gully dwarves. I don't know how I'd ever get home then."
"I could leave you a map," offered Tas. Woodrow blanched. The
kender began tightening his belts, equipment, and pouches in
preparation for his climb.
"Anyway, it wasn't your fault," he added. "I'm sure Gisella
won't blame you. She's just feeling lowly. That seems to be sort of
common with dwarves. Apparently they can't help themselves. Whenever
my friend Flint gets depressed, there's no cheering him up until he
feels like being cheered up."
Stripped to his tunic, belt, leggings, and shoes, Tas was ready
to climb. He snaked across the branch to the pulleys and then swung
down onto a rope.
"Good luck," called Woodrow.
"You, too," replied Tas with a wave as he started the long slide
to the boat, six hundred feet below.
Chapter 8
Wilbur Froghair was on the beserted, cobbled
street in front of his grocery shop at dawn, preparing
for the early morning rush. The carrots and onions
were in place on the vegetable carts and he was about
to turn the rotten spots down on the two-day-old to-
matoes when he noticed the body slumped in the
bench before the haberdashery next door
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