Subject: [alt.books.tom-holt] One Ring To Rule Them All, Jeeves
Scene; Mount Doom. Bertie Wooster and Jeeves discovered sitting on a
rock engulfed on all sides in fiery molten lava.
BW: Well, Jeeves, here we are, what?
J: Indeed, sir.
BW: I have to say, Jeeves, that the o. is looking a trifle g.
J: Quite, sir. Most disturbing.
BW: That's putting it mildly, Jeeves. Dash it all, here we are on this
bally mountain, with the sky falling in and hell's foundations
quivering. It's all looking more than a little squiffy, if you ask me
J: Very much so, sir
BW: On the other hand, we owe it to ourselves to look on the bright side.
BW: I mean, true, certain death may loom and we may be going down for
the third time in the old cock-a-leekie, but at least I'm not going to
have to marry Madeline Basset.
J: Very true, sir
BW. Or Florence Craye. Or, come to that, Honoria Glossop.
J: There is that aspect to the situation, sir.
BW: So really, it could be worse.
J: Arguably, sir. Might I suggest a tourniquet for your hand, sir?
BW: You could manage that?
J: I believe such an article could be improvised from, say, one of your socks.
BW: Not the purple ones, Jeeves.
BW: You've never liked those purple socks of mine, Jeeves. I've seen you
looking at them as if they were something you'd found under a flat
J: If I might be pardoned for saying so, the sacrifice, though
considerable, would appear to be justified in the circumstances, sir.
BW: Oh, very well, Jeeves. Tournique away.
J: Thank you, sir.
BW: I don't know, Jeeves. Who'd have thought Sir Watkyn Basset would've
turned out to be the Dark Lord?
J: With hindsight, sir, the contingency was one that might well have
been anticipated. It was fortuitous, in the event, that you were able to
convince Mr Spode to leap into the fire, holding the One Cow-Creamer.
BW: Eulalie, bless her.
J: Quite, sir. Otherwise, the consequences might have been most regrettable.
BW: Just goes to show, really. Like Aunt Dahlia said, even Spode may yet
have something to do.
J: A most acute observation, sir.
BW: Looking back, I'm not sure I could've done it myself, Jeeves. It's
like that thing you came out with the other day.
BW: Cats came into it, as I recall.
J: Letting I dare not wait upon I would, sir, like the poor cat i' the adage.
BW: I', Jeeves? You mean 'in', surely.
J: No, sir. The terminal consonant is elided for purposes of euphony.
BW: Is it? Well, anyway, that's all done and dusted. I'm glad you're
here with me, don't you know. Here at the end of all things, Jeeves.
Smeagol writhed in corruption, his lifelong attempts to collectivize the Hobbit economy had twisted his soul and body and brought ruin to the Shire. "Precious," he muttered. "Precious colective good giving according to need." He shuddered at the thought of the unbroken individual standing proudly over a conquered plain with the Ring, and felt jealous that the wholesome power could not be his.
-Lord of the Rings, by Ayn Rand.
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