That was for your death, actually. I've always assumed that my death would happen in a blaze of glory--broomsticks on fire and giants shouting and centaurs running every which way, and perhaps a flaming sword as well--orphans being rescued, young ladies wringing their hands, et cetera.
What a thing to say! I always get you the very best presents, you know that. I'm only saying, the way you're carrying on about this, it clearly means a great deal to you. So.
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But wouldn't you try? For me?
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And argh, argh.
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I shall draft a second set of last words for you, as I would so hate to disappoint. All right?
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