New spider story

Posted by C on August 14, 2001 at 10:06:23:

By C

Sarabande was an orb-weaver, one of those quietly efficient fairy-killers for whom long-suffering humans are always grateful. Now fairies are too clever for a spider web that sits there, plainly visible, week after week. So Sarabande used a special silk, invisible to fairies until it was too late. What's more, she built five new webs every night, always in different places from those of the night before. She'd then spend the day going from web to web; if they had caught anything, she'd take it back with her to her home, a big, permanent web, visible to all. There she put her victim, or victims, on display, next to whatever unfortunates had been captured earlier. This was a deliberate advertisement to the neighborhood: I'm here, and we're likely to meet. At the end of each day, before she built her new webs, she tore down all five of the old ones. She wouldn't have the time to check them along with her new constructions, and she wasn't about to catch food for someone else.

Some days (too many days), the webs stayed empty all day long. Most other days, she found one or two fairies trembling and crying in her traps. Every now and then, she enjoyed a windfall. This is the story of one of her stranger windfalls.

Part I

It was a bright but cool day in early Spring. Fairies are intent on lovemaking from Spring through Summer, so Sarabande had high hopes as she started her first circuit of the webs. Why? A fairy in love is a careless fairy, and therefore much more likely to come a cropper. Furthermore, in mating time fairies get careless together, so she had a real chance of catching two with one cast. And these would be lovers. As everyone knows, a spider who drains a pair of lovers draws twice as much nourishment as she would from two who hadn't coupled. With a little luck, it could be a wonderful day.

When she came to the third web, she almost cheered out loud. There, frantically struggling in the gluey strands and weeping for all they were worth, were a girl and boy! They were face to face; clearly they had been flying in a tight clinch when they blundered into the trap. She was a brunette, with pale blue wings; he a blond, with wings of bright red. She wore a white halter-top and black pumps; he wore a bottle-green shirt and matching knee-length boots. Otherwise they were naked. When they saw Sarabande, they both screamed, and their kicking and thrashing grew even more frantic. The girl's nipples were stiff and pressing hard against her halter-top; the boy had a pronounced erection. Both knew just what sort of bed Sarabande had prepared for them.

The spider wasted no time: she jumped onto the web and dashed over to the fairies before their struggles could damage it any further. Then, deftly frustrating their efforts to kick her, she bent down and bit each victim on the groin. They screamed again, and the boy ejaculated. It took just moments for Sarabande's venom to do its work: the fairies trembled violently, gasped a few times, and then lost consciousness. When they were completely still, Sarabande disentangled them from the web. Then she bound each with tight wraps of silk: one around the waist and arms, and another just above the knees. Next, she stuck them to her back with more silk. She now went on to inspect the remaining webs. Her first circuit completed, she brought her victims back to her headquarters and lined them up right next to each other. Two lovers! she said to herself. Two lovers!

When the day-long tour of the webs was done, and when she had pulled down the old and put up the new, Sarabande returned home. The fairies were still unconscious, so she tapped their feet with her palps to wake them up. Groaning, they slowly came to. When they saw her, they screamed once more and struggled fruitlessly for a time against their silken restraints. Then they just cried.

"That's the spirit," said Sarabande. She was trying to decide whose genitalia she would puncture first. Her victims were both very pretty, with soft lashes (now tear-soaked) and delicate, feathered antennae, something like a moth's. The girl had full, shapely breasts that trembled nicely beneath her top. Her hips and tummy were soft without being flabby. Her groin was accented by a little brown V (the hair looked very soft), and the lips of her pussy were beaded with a few clear drops of fay honey. The boy was lean and well-muscled. Blond curls, just like those on his head, crowned his pouch and spur. The spur could not be any stiffer; as the spider watched, it spouted a jet of cream, and the boy whimpered as it did. He was trembling just as invitingly as the girl.

While Sarabande mulled over her choices, the girl spoke. "M-may I say something, M-mistress?"

"Make it quick," said the spider.

"I've heard . . . I've heard that sometimes . . . your kind shows mercy to virgins."

Sarabande exhaled sharply. "Sometimes," she said. "And what does that have to do with you two?"

"I know that . . . spiders can test these things. Athanaric and I (my name's Wendy, by the way) were having our first embrace when we . . . w-when we . . . . " Then she began to cry once again.

Sarabande let the girl get it out of her system. Then she spoke. "The key word here is 'sometimes.' And our mercy, when we choose to give it, is something you may later regret. I can't stress that enough: you may come to regret it bitterly. And I will test both of you first. If you're lying to me, I'll be very cross. Do you understand everything I've said?"

The girl and boy both nodded frantically. "Very well," said the spider.

The test began with Wendy: very gently, Sarabande slipped her right palp into the girl's pussy.
At once, Wendy began to shriek. "Oh stop it!" said the spider. "You can't imagine how much this'll hurt if you're lying to me." It took just a bit of prodding to confirm the truth of what the girl had said.

Then came the boy's turn. Sure enough, his foreskin had never been retracted. He yelped as Sarabande tugged it back now.

"Hmmph," said the spider. "How very irritating. Well, I'm not a monster; I'll give you a chance for wedded bliss. Drink deep and be merry—for one month. Then be back here so that we can finish up."

"One . . . month?" said Wendy.

"One month—or right now. It's up to you."

"Oh, one month sounds terrific!" said Wendy. "We can do that!" "Yes," said Athanaric, "we sure can!"

"Fine," snapped the spider. "But listen very carefully. If the thirty-first day passes, and you're not back here, you will be sorry. Do you understand?"

Both fairies nodded frantically. "Oh thank you, thank you Mistress, thank you!" they cried. Scowling a bit, Sarabande unwrapped them and tossed them into the air. Off they darted. She had never seen fairies fly so fast.

Just then, another spider strolled into view. It was Sarabande's niece, Pavane. "Did I just see you let a pair of lovers go?" she asked.

"They're virgins," said the older spider.

"Hmmm . . . you're a lot more merciful than I am."

"Wiser, too," said Sarabande.

Part II

It wasn't long before the thirty-first day arrived. About noon, Sarabande decided to take a break from her tour of the webs. She slipped under a large bramble bush and into a clearing full of tall grass. There it still was, almost concealed from view by herbage deliberately placed. It was a little gingerbread house, of the kind fairies often built with their magic. Sarabande had seen Wendy and Athanaric come this way a week or so before. So she snuck up behind them and watched as they chanted the house into existence, then did their best to hide it. Among other tricks, they cast an invisibility spell—which doesn't work on you if you're there while it's being uttered. A week later, everything looked exactly the same. Time now to pay them a visit, she said to herself.

Staying close to the ground, she fastened some webbing across the back door. Then she came to the front. The door here was ajar, so, with no ceremony at all, she barged right in. Wendy was coming out of the kitchen with a cake in her oven-mitted hands. She was wearing an apron, which sat high on her now distended belly. When she saw Sarabande, she screamed and ran back into the kitchen. Sarabande secured the front entrance, then followed, in time to see the girl pulling desperately at the web-jammed back door.

"Did you forget our appointment?" said the spider.

Wendy screamed again and fell to her knees. "Uh, uh, no," she gasped, "no I didn't! Really I didn't!"

Just then, Athanaric entered the kitchen from what appeared to be the bedroom. When he saw the spider, he let out a choked sob and fell to his knees. "Oh dear God," he said.

"I'm sure you both remembered," said the spider. "But I thought I'd spare you a trip under your own power, so I came to get you."

"V-very considerate," said Wendy, "but there's . . . there's a problem."


"Yes," she said. "Yes. You see . . . I'm p-pregnant now."

"So it's safe to say you're not a virgin anymore?"

"Right! Right. But—as I was going to tell you when we came to you later today—I'm very, very pregnant . . . ten, maybe twenty eggs pregnant . . . and . . . and I thought . . . wouldn't it m-make more sense . . . from your point of view, I mean . . . to wait?"

"Wait?" said the spider.

"Yes, that's it! Wait! Wait. Because . . . because when they hatch, that'll be ten or twenty new, inexperienced fairies for you to have a crack at."

"Hmmm," said Sarabande. "I think I see your point. Why don't I just extract them right now?"

"No!" cried the girl. "I mean . . . no. They're not fully developed yet. Any disturbance at all . . . (like, for example, ripping them out of my belly), and they won't hatch. I'm sure of it. I really am."

"Well, you've given me some food for thought," said Sarabande. "Of course, there's no reason I can't take your husband right now . . . is there?"

"Oh dear God!" wailed Athanaric.

"Well . . . well there is, actually," said Wendy. "Secretions from a boy's, uh, manly member help ensure . . . uh, help ensure . . . that the eggs have tough enough shells! That's it. So it would be . . . tempting fate to take Athanaric away. You don't want to . . . tempt fate, do you?"

The spider sighed and said: "I suppose I don't. Tell me then: how long before you two are ready to comply with our agreement?"

"Well," said Wendy. "I'll lay in about a week. Then there's another two weeks to wean them all. A regular poke from Athanaric is good for my milk, of course . . . . Then, to make sure they're all ready to fly, I'll need . . . . "

"I'll give you both one more month. If the thirty-first day passes, and you're not back at my web, then you will rue it. Am I coming through on all channels?"

"Loud and clear, Mistress!" said the girl. "And thank you, thank you ever so much!" She then went over to comfort Athanaric, who was trembling uncontrollably.

Not long after Sarabande left the house, she met Pavane and told her everything.

"You what?!" said her niece.

"I gave them another month."

"Auntie, you're wigging out!"

"Don't disrespect your elders," said Sarabande. "Look, I know it seems crazy. But bear with me and see if I don't turn out to have done the right thing."

"All right, Auntie, I will." But the younger spider continued to look doubtful.

Part III

Thirty-one days later, at about noon, Sarabande decided to go on a hike. Wendy and Athanaric had built a new fairy house in the meantime and hidden it in the thickest forest growth they could find. Moreover, they had doused it with concealing magic. It didn't matter, for the spider had followed them every single day and of course had seen the whole thing.

Sarabande stepped into the living room. Wendy was apronless this time, but her reaction was the same as before. After she had screamed and fallen to her knees, she said: "I really wish you wouldn't do that!"

"I wish you'd keep your appointments," said the spider. "I trust you're ready now."

"Well, uh . . . ."

"You've laid your eggs, I see."

"Uh, yes . . . ."

"Your offspring came into the world without mishap?"

"Oh yes—healthy as could be: ten girls, ten boys."

"You must be very proud. They're all off milk by now?"

"Oh yes."

"Flying—and tormenting humans—under their own power?"

"Very much so; but the thing is, Mistress, I . . . we . . . I mean Athanaric and I . . . have a problem."

"A problem? What might that be?"

"I think it's best if we show you. Athanaric! Darling, come here!"

"I don't want to!" called a voice from the bedroom.

"Don't be silly! Come here this instant!" Wendy smiled at the spider and said: "He's often difficult, but he knows who's boss. It'll be just a minute."

"You're right about that," said Sarabande.

Just then, Athanaric peeked out. Wendy clucked in exasperation, strode over to him, and pulled him into the living room. He was trembling violently, as he always did in the spider's presence. Much more remarkable was the condition of his genitalia: his pouch was red and swollen to about twice its normal size; his spur was as stiff as it could possibly be, and the glans was the same angry red as the scrotum.

"What's going on here?" said the spider.

"Well, uh," said Wendy, "it's a horrible case—the worst the fairy doctor's ever seen—of a rare disease of male fairies: Membri Virilis Super-Inflammatus—that's what they call it."

"And why does this concern me?" said Sarabande.

"Because . . . because it's very virulent . . . and . . . and it might . . . poison you!"

"Poison me?"

"Oh yes—happens all the time."

"I've never heard of it happening."

"Think about it, Mistress: would spiders ever talk openly about such a thing? I mean, the embarrassment alone . . . . "

"All right. So why not just take you, and deal with your husband later?"

"Not a good idea!" Wendy almost shouted. Hearing herself, she modulated her tone. "Not . . . not a good idea, and I'll tell you why, Mistress. Two things really: first, though a girl doesn't show any symptoms, she can carry the infection as well as a boy; second, her secretions are the best therapy for it. So . . . if you want my hubby to return soon to sweet-tasting health, and I know you do . . . ."

"I'll give you both some more time."

"You've got it!" The girl was positively beaming. "I'd estimate that he'll be fully cleared up in about . . . ."

"One more month," said Sarabande. "If the thirty-first day passes, and you're not back at my web, you will wish you'd never hatched. And no extensions this time."

"No extensions?" said Wendy. "I mean: no extensions! Absolutely, Mistress. Thank you again for your indulgence." Athanaric just kept trembling.

So the spider left them there. Naturally, she and her niece discussed the matter later. "What were you thinking?" asked Pavane. "She obviously slammed the door on it a few times."

"Of course she did," said Sarabande.

"Well then, I repeat my question: what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking: they're on notice now: no extensions."

"Oh I give up," said Pavane.

Part IV

Thirty-one days came and went, and then another thirty-one. Sarabande called Pavane to her home web and said: "I think I've given them enough time."

"That's nice," said the niece. "If they have any brains at all, they've left for points unknown."

"I know they've left," said the older spider. "If they hadn't, I would have found their trail by now."

"So they've gotten away with it," said Pavane.

"Quiet," said her aunt, and began to pluck her web. As she did so, she intoned words in the Old Speech, the one that Anankaia the Spider Goddess had taught her children at the first dawn. Every now and then, Sarabande would dip her head close to the silk strands, as if listening.

When she had finished, she resumed the Common Speech. "They lay in this web, both of them," she said. "They and the web are linked even now; and, with a little prompting, it's told me where they are. They're a long way off, so let's make things easier on ourselves." She then spun a big swatch of silk from her backside. She tossed it into the air and let the breeze catch it. Like a parasail, the silk hoisted her up into the sky. Pavane quickly followed suit. "When they took off, the little fools flew with the wind!" shouted Sarabande. "We'll get them for sure!"

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When Wendy and Athanaric had fled from their old haunts, they flew as hard and as fast and as long as they could. At last, exhausted, they collapsed in the meadow of a forest about a hundred miles from their starting point. "She . . . can't possibly . . . come this far," Wendy gasped.

When they'd recovered, they set to work on a new house. This one was a Gothic-style gingerbread mansion, with fifty rooms. Once they were done building it, the fairy couple lavished every concealing spell they could think of on the big structure. Then they repeated the spells—once, twice, three times. And they made especially sure that no spider was nearby while they cast their enchantments.

Then they waited. On the day for their final appointment with Sarabande, they had some anxious moments. Both of them screamed whenever they heard a thump or a bump—of which there were plenty in the big mansion. But the thirty-first day passed without incident, and they began to breathe a lot easier. Then another thirty-one days passed, and again no spider came to carry them away. Now they laughed, wept, and hugged each other with relief. "We did it!" Wendy cried. "We gave the old bitch the slip!"

Now, if ever, it was time for a party. Their ten daughters and ten sons were all of marriageable age and planning to be married, so they used their fay telepathy to send out a special invitation: "Come to our lovely mansion, dears, and have your wedding and honeymoon all in one beautiful place!" (This fairy species had stronger family ties than most.)

The wedding took place a week later, in the meadow in front of the mansion. Forty brides and bridegrooms stood side by side and gave their vows. At the close, Wendy, who was presiding over the ceremony, said: "I now pronounce you wives and husbands! Ladies, you may stroke your grooms!" Each daughter or daughter-in-law took hold of her new husband's spur and worked it for all she was worth. A few of the boys fell groaning to their knees before their milking was through. That ritual completed, it was time for the wedding banquet, and then . . . .

The next morning, Cynthia, one of Wendy's daughters, was luxuriating in the big brass bed in Room 43 on the top floor. Clovis, her new husband, was in the bathroom. "Mmmm," said Cynthia, "that was yummy. Sweetie . . . come on back to me!"

"I . . . dear, I'm a little raw," said Clovis through the door.

"Get back here . . . right now," said Cynthia, her tone flat and rather menacing.

"Okey-dokey," said Clovis and opened the door. He was a very pretty blond with blue wings, wearing a blue shirt and matching boots. His spur was erect, and (as he'd indicated) a little red. Cynthia, a black-haired, green-winged beauty in a pink halter and heels, spread her arms and legs for him and said: "Come to Momma, honey, come to Momma." With a barely audible sigh, Clovis did.

As the pressure mounted within her, Cynthia threw back her head and moaned with pleasure. Then she saw the window behind her. It was a big sheet of transparent marzipan, which, the day before, had given a clear view of the meadow below. Now it was blocked by something drifting and gauzy, something that looked an awful lot like . . . .

"Spider silk!" Cynthia screamed. "Get off me, you idiot! We've got to go!" They dashed out into the hall, and as they did, they heard more screams, and plenty of doors banging open or closed. On the landing, they were joined by several of the other newlyweds, all wide-eyed and shivering with fear. Then, from below, came a crash, much louder than all the other noise together. The mansion had three landings. The fairies on each landing could see it all very plainly: two big orb-weavers had knocked down the front door and were now coming up the stairs.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God!" Cynthia cried as her bladder gave way.

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Thanks to some long windless stretches, it had taken the spiders a week to arrive. Exhausted and weather-beaten, they had come to the meadow's edge just as the wedding concluded. Within moments, the magic that linked Wendy and Athanaric to Sarabande's web burned away every spell of concealment. Now the spiders could see the big fairy mansion as plain as day, and the wedding party milling about in front of it.

"Let's go catch some fairies," said Pavane.

"Let's rest," said Sarabande, "and then go catch them all."

So the spiders concealed themselves as best they could in the forest adjoining the meadow. Soon they fell asleep. When they awoke, it was well past midnight. Very quietly, they came to the mansion,--then, slowly and carefully, climbed up one of its walls. Since they were trying to make no sound at all, it took a while; but at last they were perched on the highest cupola. Now they waited: first, for the sun to rise; and then for the young lovers within to return to their play.

"The more love they make, the more nourishment for us," Sarabande whispered to her niece.

When the groans and whimpers of newlywed passion had subsided, Sarabande signaled that it was time. The two spiders sprayed down curtain after curtain of webbing, until every window and door was blocked. Then they dropped to the ground, right in front of the main entrance. It wasn't long before they could hear screams and commotion. So they slipped under the webbing, kicked in the big front door, and entered.

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Everywhere, fairies were running and shrieking. Some—like Cynthia—tried to escape by breaking a window and flying out, but the billowing sheets of web caught them all. Others slammed their bedroom doors and locked them, then made an additional barrier of whatever furniture lay at hand. But the spiders had no trouble reducing all this to splinters. Squeezing through the doorways was a little more difficult—but the incentive was a good one, and so they got through. Then it was just a matter of marching to the corner where a fairy cowered, then stinging her or him into submission. Sometimes a fairy had crawled under a brass bed, but the spiders upended these with hardly a strain. Soon everyone who had taken shelter in a bedroom was down and kicking with a dose of venom. Before much longer, they were all unconscious.

Next, Sarabande and her niece went back out and climbed the curtains of webbing, to give the same dose to everyone tangled there. At the top, they found Wendy and Athanaric, who had slept and played in room 50, then smashed its window in a hopeless effort to get away. "You've broken our agreement," said Sarabande, as she pumped more venom than was necessary into the wretched girl's pussy. Wendy shrieked for what seemed the better part of a minute, before passing out. Pavane took hold of Athanaric and said: "I'm not as nice as Auntie; I would have done this a long time ago." Then she sank her fangs into the screaming boy's pouch. Soon he, too, was unconscious.

After they had captured all forty-two fairies, the spiders spent the next few hours gluing their wings together, wrapping them at the waists and knees, and bringing them out in front of the mansion. Then Sarabande performed another spell in the Old Speech. This told her which ones were husband and wife. Knowing now who went with whom, Sarabande lined them all up accordingly and joined them hand to hand. Then she placed a claw on the groin of the girl nearest to her. She had Pavane do the same with the nearest boy. "We're joined now with the children and in-laws," she said. "They're joined with Wendy and Athanaric. And Wendy and Athanaric are joined with my web. If I do everything right, we should have a really easy trip back. If not, we've got quite a slog ahead of us." She chanted some more archaic words, and everything suddenly grew dark.

When they could see again, Sarabande and her niece were back home, a foot or so from her web. The captured fairies lay in front of them, still sleeping from the venom. "Auntie," said Pavane. "You could have brought those two back by magic at any time!"

"Yes," said Sarabande, "but not the others. They all had to be physically joined to Wendy and Athanaric. That's what our little trip accomplished."

Part V

When the forty daughters, sons, and in-laws at last awoke, they were on their backs in Sarabande's web. They knew that escape was hopeless; they knew that their cunts were moist now, their spurs stiff now, for the spider's benefit. Knowing their fate beyond any doubt, they took what comfort they could from tears and from each other. Each fairy could reach out and grasp the hand of a wife or husband, and so everyone did.

After about half an hour, Sarabande and Pavane came up to the web. Several fairies screamed, and the strands all shook with the violent trembling of forty little bodies. The older spider spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear: "Calm down; I have something to tell you!" Responding reluctantly to the authority of her voice, they did. "I've captured you all, and none of you is a virgin. So make no mistake: you've lain down in a bed from which you won't get up. It may take some time, but my niece and I are going to tease the honey—and everything else--from every pouch and pussy that we see today." ("Oh God, oh dear God!" one of the fairies groaned.) "It's not that weighty a matter, of course: sooner or later, you were each going to be caught by somebody. But to be caught so easily, and all together, and so soon after your special day—that probably vexes you a great deal. I want you to know why it happened." Sarabande made an odd little gesture with her palps, and then Wendy and Athanaric came into view, moving very unsteadily.

Like the others, they were bound arms to waist, with their wings stuck together, but their legs were unconstrained; thus they could walk in a halting, reluctant sort of way. Because Sarabande had bound them, they would go wherever she commanded, however hateful the destination. They came right up to the web, then stood there with their heads down, crying softly.

"These two," said Sarabande, "were the beneficiaries of my mercy. In return, they did everything they could to stretch and manipulate their agreement with me, and in the end they simply broke it. So I imposed a penalty, with interest. You forty are the interest."

"Mom! Dad! How could you?" cried one. "You've doomed us all!" wailed another. Most just wept with redoubled force. Sarabande turned to Wendy and Athanaric and said, simply, "It's time."

Still crying, the two turned away from the other fairies and sat down on the edge of the web. For a while, they leaned against each other, as if for strength. Then they lay back, shuddering visibly as their bodies settled into the sticky silk. Like the others, they clasped hands and waited. After a few minutes, Sarabande went over to Wendy, and Pavane went to Athanaric. The spiders quickly bound their victims' legs. (Doing so minimizes the kind of fussy kicking that fairies are prone to, and which can damage a web.) Next they mounted the web themselves and paused for a moment, admiring the two lovely prizes they were at last claiming. Then, as if on a prearranged signal, their heads snapped down and their fangs breached a pussy and a pouch at exactly the same time. Wendy and Athanaric screamed at first--but soon all they could do was moan, cry, and tremble. It took some time, but the spiders finally drained their groins of every drop of honey. The luckless fairies fell into a swoon just this side of death. Then the spiders took the rest of their fluids, and the two fairies did die.

When Wendy and Athanaric had been reduced to transparent shells, the spiders turned to another couple: Cynthia and Clovis. "It's not fair!" Cynthia shrieked. "It's just . . . not fair!" With surprising gentleness, Sarabande stroked the girl's forehead with one of her claws. The fairy's eyes rolled back, and she saw a vision of a terrible alternate future. She and Clovis were flying low over a patch of honeysuckle, when two hornets shot up from the undergrowth. Each insect caught its prey in an iron embrace. Then their tails lashed back and forth, stinging the screaming fairies on their groins again, and again, and again. When the hornets finally laid them side by side on the dirt, Clovis was ejaculating blood. All this would have happened in just two days. "It's . . . still . . . not fair," Cynthia whimpered, but she made less commotion now. "No, it's not fair," said the spider, "but I'm not the cruelest of predators either. Just give me the word, and I'll send you to your rendezvous with the hornets." The girl said nothing more. Soon she and Clovis were groaning and trembling for the last time.

That was enough for one day. Sarabande and Pavane nipped the others back into unconsciousness. They would keep both aunt and niece well fed for another month.

Later in the day, the two were enjoying a well-earned rest. Pavane turned to her aunt and said: "I shouldn't have doubted you."

"Of course you should have," said Sarabande. "You have to live a while to learn that agreements have a special magic. If you break them, you may—and I mean may—pay a lot more in the end. I sensed as soon as I met those two that something big would happen if they didn't keep their word. So I gave them every bit of leeway I could, to make it even bigger in the end. I'm sure you'll develop the same intuition before much longer; most of the ladies in our family do."

"I certainly hope so," said Pavane.