Except for Bursar of course. He didn't eat much, but lived on his nerves. He was certain he was anorectic, because every time he looked in a mirror he saw a fat man. It was Archchancellor, standing behind him and shouting at him.
And it was the Bursar's unfortunate fate to be sitting opposite the doors when Windle Poons smashed them in because it was easier than fiddling with the handles.
He bit through his wooden spoon.
The wizards revolved on their benches to stare.
Windle Poons swayed for a moment, assembling control of vocal
chords, lips and tongue, and then said:
I think I may be able to metabolise
The Archchancellor was the first one to recover.
Windle! he said.
We thought you were dead!
He had to admit that it wasn't a very good line. You didn't put people on slab with candles and lilies all round them because you think they've got a bit of a headache and want a nice lie down for half an hour.
Windle took a few steps forward. The nearest wizards fell over themselves in an effort to get away.
I am dead, you bloody young fool, he muttered.
I go around looking like this all the time?
You? We can't take yousaid the Dean, glaring at the Librarian.
You don't know a thing about guerilla warefare.
Ooook! said the Librarian, and made a surprisingly comprehensive
gesture to indicate that, on the other hand, what he didn't know about
organgutan warfare could be written on the very small pounded-up
remains of, for example, the Dean.