“I’m not sure I’m going back to this Bena, Mary. I was laughed at in the bar! And — I miss you.”
Pitch’s wife Mary, as usual around any body of water, was reeling reeling reeling them in. Perch always. It was the only fish around.
“If you don’t go back,” she explained patiently, “then you’ll never find out what happened. Keep close to Rebl. She’ll guide you through.”
“How about — *you*? Can you come as well? It’s the same house we have — had in Collagesity. Still have, except it lays empty there.” He picked at the laces of his boots. “Just like here.”
“We must choose Pitch Darling.”
Darkly, though Pitch, then realized who he was talking to. And he knew what the choosing meant. Collagesity or Corsica? It could come down to that.
Mary suddenly switched over to the other side for more action.