'Quack,' said the Colonel thoughtfully, pushing a forefinger against his Kipling-style mustache. 'Pity-I was thinking of earthquake.'
'If you've got quack, Uncle Eddie,' said Phyllis, 'how could you get quake out of it?'
The cat made another more sustained noise at his door, and now with black tail and brindle hindquarters in the house, he moved backwards and pulled something through the plastic oval. What he had dragged in looked whitish and about six inches long.
'Caught another bird,' said Michael, impatient for Eddie to make his move so he could make a brilliant move before somebody grabbed it.
'Looks like another goose foot,' said Gladys, glancing. 'Ugh.'
The Colonel at last moved, adding a P to SUM.
Portland Bill flipped his trophy into the air, and it fell on the carpet with a thud.
'Really dead pigeon that,' remarked the Colonel who was nearest the cat, but whose eyesight was not the best. 'Turnip,' he said for Phyllis's benefit. 'Swede. Or an oddly shaped carrot,' he added, peering, then chuckled. 'I've seen carrots take the most fantastic shapes. Saw one once ...'
'This is white,' said Phyllis, and got up to investigate, since Gladys had to play before her. Phyllis, in slacks and sweater, bent over with hands on her knees. 'Good Chr— Oh! Uncle Eddie!' She stood up and clapped her hand over her mouth as if she had said something dreadful.
Michael Herbert had half risen from his chair. 'What's the matter?'
'They're human fingersV Phyllis said. 'Look!'
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