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. You'll have to wait until he gets
here," he said petulantly.
"I sure hope he'll be here soon," Woodrow said ear-
nestly, "because we really must be getting back to
Rosloviggen. Miss Hornslager must be very angry with
us for leaving." He followed the gnome and the kender
around a corner into a cavernous room.
"Wow!" Tas gasped. "What is this place? It looks like
the museum in Palanthas."
Every inch of the large room, except for its narrow
aisles, was covered with long, horizontal, glass display
cases set up on high, thin legs. Row upon row of dead in-
sects lay on white velvet cushions inside the cases. There
were five cases filled with nothing but blue butterflies,
each one slightly different, each with its name neatly
penned on a card next to it. Then there were whole cases
of red butterflies and white butterflies, then another case
of red and white ones. Every color in the rainbow was
represented.
There were two cases with black ants.
Two more for red ants.
One for dragonflies.
Ten for wasps.
And on and on.
"Do you collect insects?" asked Tas, running from case
to case, pressing his nose to each.
"What makes you ask that?" the gnome said sarcasti-
cally, rolling his eyes. Using his sleeve, he rubbed nose
prints from the cases after Tasslehoff had passed.
Tas opened his mouth to respond when Woodrow
leaned into him and whispered, "I think he was joking,
Mr. Burrfoot."
Tasslehoff's brows knit in confusion. Oh, a joke!
Gnomes sure are funny, he thought.
The gnome hustled them through an archway with a
letter "C" above it at the far end of the room, and into an
even larger room with a ceiling at least three stories high
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