Apple Tree with Red Fruit

might not have been the best-informed girl in the world, but she wasn’t stupid. She was at the door and through it just as the breakfast tray hit the wall.
Magrat sat down on the bed with her head in her hands.
She didn’t want to do.
She dressed herself in her commoner’s clothes for the
‘ last time, and let herself out and down the back stairs to the
widdershins tower and the room where Diamanda lay
Magrat had instructed Shawn to keep a good fire going
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Terry Pratchett
in the grate, and Diamanda was still sleeping, peacefully, the unwakeable sleep.be queen. Being a queen was like being an actor, and Magrat had never been any good at act-ing. She’d always felt she wasn’t very good at being Magrat, if it came to that.The bustle of the pre-nuptial activities rose up from the town. There’d be folkdancing, of course—there seemed to be no way of preventing it—and probably folksinging would be perpetrated. And there’d be dancing bears and comic jug-glers and the greasy pole competition, which for some rea-son Nanny Ogg always won. And bowling-with-a-pig. And the bran tub, which Nanny Ogg usually ran; it was a brave man who plunged his hand into a bran tub stocked by a witch with a broad sense of humor. Magrat had always liked the fairs. Up until now.Well, there were still some things she could