101 Things To Do Before You Die by Celestine Chua

By Celestine Chua

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Looks like Mr. Brown won’t be joining us, then,” said another voice. There was a snigger. “Oh, I don’t know about that, Mr. Lilywhite, I don’t know about that at all,” said a third voice, and this one was from the direction of the fountain. “Could you take my bag while I climb up, please? ” It was a neat little voice. The owner of a voice like that kept his money in a shovel purse and always counted his change carefully. Ernie thought all this, and then tried very hard to forget that he had. “On you go, Ernie,” said Teatime.

Said Teatime. There was a blur, and a knife shuddered in the table between Peachy’s thumb and index finger. He looked down at it in horror. “My name’s Teatime,” said Teatime. ” “’m…Peachy,” said Peachy, still staring at the vibrating knife. “That’s an interesting name,” said Teatime. ” Medium Dave coughed. Peachy looked up into Teatime’s face. The glass eye was a mere ball of faintly glowing gray. The other eye was a little dot in a sea of white. Peachy’s only contact with intelligence had been to beat it up and rob it whenever possible, but a sudden sense of self-preservation glued him to his chair.

The tendency of old buildings to be honeycombed with sealed chimney flues was a fact you learned early in your career. And then, he told himself, you forgot. It always paid to put the other fellow in awe of you, too. He had forgotten they taught that, too. “The dogs seem to like you,” he said. ” Teatime’s face was young and open and friendly. Or, at least, it smiled all the time. But the effect was spoiled for most people by the fact that it had only one eye. Some unexplained accident had taken the other one, and the missing orb had been replaced by a ball of glass.

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