The Woozy
did not seem to notice, and he just kept right on going and going and
going. Graham was alone again. But at least he was out of the terrible
Witch's reach. Indeed, the Witch was presently having a most exciting
dream about plush animals which could be inflated to the size of a house
and then used as potato-mashers in the thermostat of life which likes to
think about groovy butterflies with red and purple and yellow and violet
whispers in the dark backward uprising theme of the way it really was in
the thunder of the goat farm with lots of yams and a shovelful of fine
white powder that looked like the side of a barn with lots of clocks and
fleas with orange earrings in their hazy green and blue and pink
walking-sticks which were married to some tortilla chips and about
thirty-five orange and brown cabinet-makers with green feathers and pink
fur.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
JEANNE-MARIE
Graham sat down upon the ground and sighed. He was glad to have escaped
from the Wicked Witch yet again, but he felt sorry for his companion. He
wondered what that awful old woman might have done to poor Telly. Could
she have locked him away in a torture chamber someplace? Some terrible
winding maze such as he had just left? It made him feel sick to even
imagine it.
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