“And then it went into the poultry merchant’s, grabbed Mr. Terwillie, and”—the man stopped, aware there was a lady present, even if she was making snorting noises while trying not to laugh, and continued in a mumble—“made use of some sage and onion. If you know what I mean . . .” “You mean he—?” Vimes began. “Yes!” His companion nodded. “Poor old Terwillie won’t be able to look sage and onion in the face again, I reckon.” “By the sound of it, that’s the last thing he’ll do,” said Vimes.
