FOOL.
You said it was done to a turn.
BLIND MAN.
Did I, now? Well, it might be done, and not done. The wings might be white, but the legs might be red. The flesh might stick hard to the bones and not come away in the teeth. But, believe me, Fool, it will be well done before you put your teeth in it.
FOOL.
My teeth are growing long with the hunger.
BLIND MAN.
I’ll tell you a story—the kings have story-tellers while they are waiting for their dinner—I will tell you a story with a fight in it, a story with a champion in it, and a ship and a queen’s son that has his mind set on killing somebody that you and I know.
FOOL.
Who is that? Who is he coming to kill?