Clovis and
the Baroness rather overdid the Sumurun manner, while the rest of
the company could hardly be said to attempt it at all. As for
Cassandra, who was expected to improvise her own prophecies, she
appeared to be as incapable of taking flying leaps into futurity
as of executing more than a severely plantigrade walk across the
stage.
"Woe! Trojans, woe to Troy!" was the most inspired remark she
could produce after several hours of conscientious study of all
the available authorities.
"It's no earthly use foretelling the fall of Troy," expostulated
Clovis, "because Troy has fallen before the action of the play
begins. And you mustn't say too much about your own impending
doom either, because that will give things away too much to the
audience."
After several minutes of painful brain-searching, Cassandra smiled
reassuringly.
"I know. I'll predict a long and happy reign for George the
Fifth."
"My dear girl," protested Clovis, "have you reflected that
Cassandra specialized in foretelling calamities?"
There was another prolonged pause and another triumphant issue.
"I know. I'll foretell a most disastrous season for the
foxhounds.
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