“Pick a quiet spot and let’s get down,” I said. “We’ll start a riot in a minute.”
We circled some buildings, spotted a deserted alley and floated gently to the ground. As we recovered our balance, we noticed an old man standing in a doorway staring at us with fixed concentration.
“Do you do that often?” he quavered, plucking nervously at his beard.
“It only happens when we’re a bit light-headed,” I returned, dusting myself down. “Think nothing of it.”
“I wish I could,” the old man said, wistfully. “It’ll haunt me for the rest of my days.”
“That won’t be long,” I said, kindly, “so it won’t be hard to bear.”
“Don’t tease him,” Myra said. “He looks as if he’s been through rather a strain.”
“I have, lady,” the old man said eagerly. “The trouble is no one will believe me,” and he went into his house and shut the door.
“Phew!” I said. “We’re lucky to get out of that.”
Myra suddenly faced me. “Did you really propose to that blonde?” she said, looking at me accusingly.