"I do not weigh a couple of tons!" she snapped. "And furthermore I assure you I'm sitting on your chest out of duty, certainly not out of pleasure. If you don't think I have lots better things to do with my nights than go around sitting on people...." Her large white teeth gleamed in a significant leer.
He sighed and squirmed again. A sharp hoof kicked him in the side. "That'll learn you not to wiggle, Watson. Since you're not sleeping," she added, "how about a couple of games of Canasta?"
"I've been losing enough on the races—I'm not going to start gambling with a supernatural card shark."
"Listen here." The nightmare bristled. "I can beat you at any game without the use of supernatural powers. You're known as the number-one sucker at all the tracks."
"That's right. That's right. Kick a man when he's down."
"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I didn't mean to be unsporting. But you get me so mad!"
"Unsporting ..." he mused—then sat up as a terrific idea hit him.
"Watch your step, Watson," the nightmare warned when the sudden movement nearly threw her off the bed. "I've been standing for a lot from you but—"
"Listen, can you run?"
"Run? Whaddya mean run?"