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Terry Pratehett
“What?”
“I mean that somewhere Mustrum Ridcully married Esmerelda Weather-wax and they lived—“ Granny gritted her teeth “—lived happily ever after. More or less. As much as anyone does.”
“How d’you know?”
“I’ve been On a summer night, with couples going their own ways,
L and silky purple twilight growing between the trees. From
d the castle, long after the celebrations had ended, faint laugh-
ter and the ringing of little silver bells. And from the empty hillside, only the silence of the elvpicking up bits of her memories. She seemed happy enough. And I ain’t easily pleased.”“How can you do that?”“I try to be good at everything I do.”“Did she say anything about—““She didn’t say nothing! She don’t know we exist! Don’t ask questions! It’s enough to know that everything happens somewhere, isn’t it?”Ridcully tried to grin.“Is that the best you can tell me?” he said.“It’s the best there is. Or the next best thing.”Where does it end?*es.