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I wondered whether to ask her if she would mind everywhere being covered with green slime when Howl’s hair went wrong; or if she minded coping with a man who had head colds like a drama queen; or being twisted round Howl’s little finger; or would it worry her that the man was a terrible coward; or always falling in love with other women;
“I’ll make some hot buttered toast,” she said.
“Is that all you can do in the face of tragedy?” Howl asked.
“Is that all you can do in the face of tragedy?” Howl asked.
Howl’s voice was presently heard shouting weakly, “Help me, someone! I’m dying from neglect up here!”
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