Yet many gray lords go sadly to the masterless men,’” intoned a voice on the other side of the grille. “‘Hooray, hooray for the spinster’s sister’s daughter,’” countered the dripping figure. “‘To the axeman, all supplicants are the same height.’” “‘Yet verily, the rose is within the thorn.’” “‘The good mother makes bean soup for the errant boy,’” said the voice behind the door. There was a pause, broken only by the sound of the rain. Then the visitor said, “What?” “‘The good mother makes bean soup for the errant boy.’” There was another, longer pause. Then the damp figure said, “Are you sure
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