The salad wailed when it was placed on the table. "I do not like yon Cassie; she has a lean and hungry look," it said.
Cassandra stabbed several leaves and a crouton with her fork. "Aiee, et, too?" the salad cried as she chewed.
"How's your sandwich?" she asked Borden. Borden did not answer. He lay face down on the table, a bloody knot visible on the back of his head. The burly man behind him leaned forward and gently placed a knotty wooden club on the table beside a scoop of coleslaw.
"I'm fine, thanks," the club-wielding man said.
Light Makes Narrative Imperfections Shine
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