Thousand: Three Hundred

though the way the garden gnome was carrying on, you’d think a dormouse had been stuffed in it. “A lump of sugar?” the fisher gnome inquired, holding one out with a pair of tongs. “Yes, please,” said the garden gnome, and stirred it into his tea with the clink clink clink of a pewter spoon with a hanged leprechaun handle. The leprechaun cast on the fisher gnome’s spoon had been crucified, he noted with a peculiar twinge. There was something familiar about it. “My dear boy,” said the fisher gnome, tapping the green bound volume under his right hand, “what