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“The troll’s tones were rough, his vowels most uncul-tured, the whole tenor of his speech was slovenly and un-educated to a degree far worse than any rustic peasant might employ: in fact, to Rambo’s ears, the accent might even belong to that most awful of entities – a town!”
― The Robbit: Or Turned Out Nice Again
― The Robbit: Or Turned Out Nice Again
“The only one not partaking of the general merriment was Rambo.
“But,” he said, with more than a hint of bewilderment in his voice, “do you mean to say that this secret door only opens on one day a year, and then only at sunset? I don’t pretend to know much about these things, but surely it would be easier to have a door one might access at any time? The builders can never have known when it might have been needed. It all seems a little odd.”
The dwarves’ smiles faded a little; Thorny frowned.
“No, no. Not odd at all,” Grendelf replied. He leant forwards, bushy brows bristling. “Not at all odd.”
― The Robbit: Or Turned Out Nice Again
“But,” he said, with more than a hint of bewilderment in his voice, “do you mean to say that this secret door only opens on one day a year, and then only at sunset? I don’t pretend to know much about these things, but surely it would be easier to have a door one might access at any time? The builders can never have known when it might have been needed. It all seems a little odd.”
The dwarves’ smiles faded a little; Thorny frowned.
“No, no. Not odd at all,” Grendelf replied. He leant forwards, bushy brows bristling. “Not at all odd.”
― The Robbit: Or Turned Out Nice Again
“IN A HOLE IN THE GROUND, there lived a dwarf.
The hole was a nasty, damp, foul-smelling pit hacked out of a pile of slag on a barren mountainside, but dwarves are not averse to roughing it, and to this particular dwarf the hole was Home.”
― The Robbit: Or Turned Out Nice Again
The hole was a nasty, damp, foul-smelling pit hacked out of a pile of slag on a barren mountainside, but dwarves are not averse to roughing it, and to this particular dwarf the hole was Home.”
― The Robbit: Or Turned Out Nice Again
“While the dwarves dug a pit in which to bury the loot, Grendelf took particular interest in the trolls’ collection of gold rings, and spent an hour or so sorting through them all and trying them on. One after the other he put the rings on his fingers, until in the end he stamped and cursed and really lost his temper.
“Not one of them!” he harrumphed, and he tossed the rings into the pit with the other spoils.”
― The Robbit: Or Turned Out Nice Again
“Not one of them!” he harrumphed, and he tossed the rings into the pit with the other spoils.”
― The Robbit: Or Turned Out Nice Again
“But, well, I mean to say. I can’t just leave, can I?”
Grendelf gave a sniff. “I don’t see why not.”
“I have responsibilities! Duties! I’m... needed here! A mainstay of the local community.” Rambo wrung his hands and glanced around at the dwarves. “Why, I don’t think I can count the number of times my Uncle Iznobard – he’s the Thane of the Squirelands, don’t you know – has said ‘Rambo, my boy, how would I manage you without you?’ “
“You can’t count to zero?” Grendelf growled.”
― The Robbit: Or Turned Out Nice Again
Grendelf gave a sniff. “I don’t see why not.”
“I have responsibilities! Duties! I’m... needed here! A mainstay of the local community.” Rambo wrung his hands and glanced around at the dwarves. “Why, I don’t think I can count the number of times my Uncle Iznobard – he’s the Thane of the Squirelands, don’t you know – has said ‘Rambo, my boy, how would I manage you without you?’ “
“You can’t count to zero?” Grendelf growled.”
― The Robbit: Or Turned Out Nice Again
