Johannes Vermeer Saint Praxidis

Johannes Vermeer Saint PraxidisJohannes Vermeer Lady Standing at a VirginalJohannes Vermeer A Lady Writing a LetterUnknown Artist Wooded LandscapeUnknown Artist The Wetterhorn with the Reichenbachtal
'It's five hundred miles away!' said Magrat. 'You'll be away for ages!'
'I can't help it,' said the Fool. 'The duke's given me special instructions. He trusts me.'
'Huh! To hire more soldiers, I expect?'
'No. Nothing like that. Not as bad as that.' The Fool hesitated. He'd introduced Felmet to the world of words. Surely that was better than hitting people with swords? Wouldn't that buy time? Wouldn't it be best for everybody, in the circumstances?
'But you don't have to go! You don't want to go!'
'That doesn't be pathetic if I broke my word,' he said. 'But I may be incredibly ill-advised. I'm sorry. I'll be back in a few weeks, anyway.'
'Don't you understand I'm asking you not to listen to him?'
'I said I'm sorry. I couldn't see you again befohave much to do with it. I promised to be loyal to him—''Yes, yes, until you're dead. But you don't even believe that! You were telling me how much you hated the whole Guild and everything!''Well, yes. But I still have to do it. I gave my word.'Magrat came close to stamping her foot, but didn't sink so low.'Just when we were getting to know one another!' she shouted. 'You're pathetic!'The Fool's eyes narrowed. 'I'd only re I go, could I?'
'I shall be washing my hair,' said Magrat stiffly.
'When?'