“And Cassandra’s a Reynolds, of course — the little girl with the mousetrap.” “I’m not!” I said indignantly. “I hate that picture. The mouse is terrified, the cat’s hungry and the girl’s a cruel little beast. I refuse to be her.” “Ah, but you’d let the mouse out of the trap and find a nice dead sardine for the cat,” said Simon. I began to like him a little better.
