trampe videre inn i neste morgen

“She could turn you into butter,” said a third.
“Wich might melt,” observed the fourth.
“Or a pudding.”
“Wich might get eaten.”
“Or a drawing of yourself on white paper.”
“Wich someone might set fire to, you know, without meaning to.”

Fra novellesamlingen The Ladies of Grace Adieu and other stories av Susanna Clarke.