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262 pages, Hardcover
First published April 1, 1998
“I know who you are,” he exclaimed, clasping his plump hands together and producing a chuckling sort of sound inside himself someplace.
Groucho rushed up to him, taking long bent-knee steps, and clutched the fat man’s upper left arm. “Then, praise the Lord, you’re the very person I’m seeking,” he confided. “I’ve been suffering from a nasty bout of amnesia for days now and, myself, have absolutely no idea who I am.”
She gasped again. “You’re,” she began, pausing to inhale, “you’re one of the Marx Brothers, aren’t you?”
Groucho halted, scowled, removed the dead cigar from his lips and pointed at her with it. “No, my good woman, I’m actually all of the Ritz Brothers,” he replied. “And let me tell you, it’s a thankless task. Bad enough being Al and Jimmy, but being Harry as well takes all my spare time and you can’t imagine how far behind I’m getting with my quilting.”
“Who tried to shoot you, Groucho?”
“We suspect sibling rivalry,” he said, his back against the door. “Right now the prime suspects are the Ritz Brothers, the Boswell Sisters and the Dionne Quintuplets.”