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Mr
.
Hartog
came
back
to
his
laugh
.
"
You
have
a
lovely
wife
.
That
’
s
half
the
battle
.
"
"
That
’
s
the
whole
battle
.
"
"
Ethan
,
you
’
ll
make
him
think
we
fight
.
"
"
Oh
,
we
do
!
"
I
gulped
half
the
glass
and
felt
the
warmth
spring
up
behind
my
eyes
.
And
I
was
looking
at
the
bottle
end
of
one
of
the
tiny
window
panes
.
It
caught
the
candlelight
and
seemed
to
revolve
slowly
.
Maybe
it
was
self
-
hypnosis
,
for
I
heard
my
own
voice
go
on
,
listened
to
myself
from
outside
myself
.
"
Mrs
.
Margie
is
the
Witch
of
the
East
.
A
martini
is
not
a
drink
.
It
’
s
a
potion
.
"
The
gleaming
glass
still
held
me
.
"
Oh
,
dear
!
I
always
thought
of
myself
as
Ozma
.
Wasn
’
t
the
Witch
of
the
East
a
wicked
witch
?
"
"
She
was
indeed
.
"
"
And
didn
’
t
she
melt
?
"
Through
the
crooked
glass
I
saw
a
man
’
s
figure
walking
past
on
the
sidewalk
.
He
was
all
misshaped
by
the
distortion
,
but
he
carried
his
head
a
little
to
the
left
and
walked
curiously
on
the
outsides
of
his
feet
.
Danny
did
that
.
I
saw
myself
leap
up
and
run
after
him
.
I
saw
myself
run
to
the
corner
of
Elm
Street
but
he
had
disappeared
,
perhaps
in
the
back
garden
of
the
second
house
.
I
called
,
"
Danny
!
Danny
!
Give
me
back
the
money
.
Please
,
Danny
,
give
it
to
me
.
Don
’
t
take
it
.
It
’
s
poisoned
.
I
poisoned
it
!
"
I
heard
a
laugh
.
It
was
Mr
.
Hartog
’
s
laugh
.
Margie
said
,
"
Well
,
I
would
rather
be
Ozma
.
"
I
wiped
the
tears
from
my
eyes
with
my
napkin
and
explained
,
"
I
should
drink
it
,
not
bathe
my
eyes
in
it
.
It
burns
.
"
