She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. She could not stir hand or foot. I dare say it will be chattered about for weeks. You call it a lot of nicknames—“Babs” and “Bibs” and “Viddles” and “Vee”; you whack at it playfully, and it whacks you back. 260 “Can you turn me into one?” “Yes, I can turn you into one tonight. “But I—I went to Nigel Ennison for help.
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