On still another road, a green-haired man wobbled by on peppermint-stick stilts; a fiery-plumed bird of paradise perched on his shoulder. But he's not in this story, so don't pay any attention to him.

“You're a way-getter-inner, I can tell.”

“Can you believe the man rhymed 'Rumplestiltskin' with 'crumpled napkins'?”

“No one is defined by a single act," Frederic said. "Whether it was years ago or…”

“Someone's having a pity party and didn't invite the rest of us.”