Mindmistress: This egg is just what I need, pretty one---now go back to graze--I don't want them to discover you--you're my secret ace-in-the-hole.Smith: No trace of her--? Searcher: Not yet--even infared satellite photos don't help---because this is the Everglades---the temperature out there is about ninety-eight-point-six.

Mr. Hardy: Lorelei--? How are things going? Magilla: Oh, hi, Mr. Hardy, the shop's fine, the pets are fine-- Mr. Hardy: Food holding out? Magilla: Yes, sir! Mr. Hardy: It's so good to hear a familiar voice--you okay? Magilla: Never better, sir.Mindmistress: Okay...sleeping on a bed of leaf mulch...naked except for thick, gooey mud--spiders and mites crawling over me---in fourteen days, fatal brain tumors---here's...my...plan...


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