It happened last Tuesday.
I had just exhaustively and painstakingly marked my three final-year dissertations.*
I had returned them to the office and was gliding back to my rooms, contemplating a peaceful evening ahead with my companion and our cat, Shiny, leafing through the poisoner’s handbook together – when a dainty foot shot out of the A. Lovage Hi-Tech Laboratory door.
The unthinkable happened, dear Reader.
As I did so, I felt a tiny but determined hand in the small of my back shove me forwards towards the coal cellar door – usually under lock and key (keys firmly strapped to Cordelia’s belt) – but now, I observed, wide open.
The doors slammed to behind me, dear Reader. A chain clanked. A padlock clicked shut. In the distance I heard a tiny, cicada-like titter, followed by the low thrum of a Ferrari 250 GTO disappearing into the night.
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