Лайон Спрэг Де Камп Array: The Incomplete Enchanter

«Stayed behind. He liked it there.»

«And who.»

Shea grinned. «My dream-girl. Belphebe, Dr. Bayard. And Miss Mugler. Oh, damn!» He had happened to glance at his hands, which showed a lot of little blisters. «I’m going to be sick for a few days, I guess.»

Gertrude showed signs of finding her voice. She opened her mouth.

Shea forestalled her with; «No, Gert, I won’t need a nurse. Just a quart of calamine lotion. You see, Belphebe and I are getting married the first chance we get.»

Gertrude’s face ran through a spectrum of expressions, ending with belligerent hostility. She said to Belphebe: «But

— you —»

Belphebe said with a touch of blithe defiance: «He speak no more than truth. Find you aught amiss with that?» When Gertrude did not answer, she turned to Shea. «What said you about sickness, my love and leman?»

Shea drew a long breath of relief. «Nothing serious, darling. You see, it was poison ivy I tied the broom with.»

Belphebe added: «Sweet Harold, now that I am utterly yours, will you do me no more than one service?»

«Anything,» said Shea fondly.

«I lack still the explanation of those strange words in the poem wherewith you bested the Blatant Beast!»