Marc looked up apprehensively. "At what?" he asked.
"Everything." Toffee said spaciously. "On the town."
"Haven't you had enough excitement?" Marc asked wearily.
"Not of the right sort," Toffee said. "What I crave is soft lights and wine and all that sort of elegant truck. Come on."
"What about George?"
"Oh, yes," Toffee reflected, "there is George, isn't there?" She regarded the transfixed half-spirit thoughtfully. "It would serve him right if we just left him here, cut off at the pockets. Still I don't suppose it's the thing to do...." A look of inspiration came to her face. "I know."
Taking her gadget from beneath her arm, she levelled it at George and pressed the button. Instantly George disappeared entirely. Toffee replaced the instrument and turned to Marc.
"There," she said brightly. "George in the handy pocket size, where he can't do any harm. Now we're all set for a life of gin and sin, and no interruptions."
"Now, wait a minute!" Marc said. "We're not set for anything, much less a life of gin and sin as you so pungently put it. Do I have to remind you that I have a wife to think of?"
"I don't care if you have a whole regiment of wives to think of," Toffee said testily. "I've protected and preserved you and, by gum, you're mine. At least right now. Your wife can just take her chances on what's left."