He doesn’t hear me approach, so he is doubly startled when I wrench the bagpipes right out of his hands. “Rose Pryor!” he cries. “You cannot just snatch a man’s pipes away, you harpy!” “I can, I did, and I will again, if you don’t let up!” 283 “Give those back, you madwoman!” He lunges at me, and I dance out of reach, the pipes clacking in a way that makes the color drain from his face. I turn and walk briskly back to the house, still clutching his pipes.
