The Fool held his breath. On long nights on the hard flagstones he had dreamed of women like her. Although, if he really thought about it, not much like her; they were better endowed around the chest, their noses werent so red and pointed, and their hair tended to flow more. But the Fools libido was bright enough to tell the difference between the impossible and the conceivably attainable, and hurriedly cut in some filter circuits.
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About Terry Pratchett, Wyrd Sisters
Terry Pratchett, Wyrd Sisters.