Thousand: Three Hundred Five

asps? The dogs? Which? Could it have been the Achilles tendon? That part was in the book, after all. “But that’s why I’m here!” the fisher gnome protested. “I have come to help head it off, if at all possible, or, if no can do on that, to help reconcile you. Fate is fate.” The garden gnome was trolling the bottom of his teacup with a spoon. Looking for something? It was the fisher gnome’s turn to lean forward and peer into the other’s cup. “’Snot there!” wailed the garden gnome. The fisher gnome felt queasy. “I was just dipping,