I (faint but inquisitive). Whatever are you doing now, Priscilla?
She. Poisoning the dragon's body.
I. Poisoning it?
She. Yes, wiv a can.
I. How?
She. Down its neck.
I (feeling that the immediate peril from the dragon's assault is now practically over and wishing to return the fairy's kindness). Shall we pretend that the sofa is where the Fairy Bluebell lived, and I built her a little home with flowers, and these cushions were the flowers, and (rather basely) she went to sleep in it?
She (with sparkling eyes). Yes, yes.
[I remove the potatoes, the plums, the honey and the head of the dragon and manufacture a grotto in which the Fairy Bluebell reclines with closed eyes. It appears to be a suitable moment for returning to my book.
She. And suddenly the Fairy Bluebell woke up, and what do you think she wanted?