“Ask me a question,” Carl... «What Time the Sexton's Spade Doth Rust»
reader_ko932g22 августа 2026“Ask me a question,” Carl said. “Anything. Go ahead. Try me.”
It was an old parlor trick, and I had used it myself. If the person asks a
question you can’t answer, make one up that they can’t possibly check.
“What’s the temperature, in centigrade, of the seventh circle of Hell?”
Carl scratched his head. “Beats me,” he said. “What is it?”
“One hundred and seventy degrees,” I said. I didn’t just pick this
number out of thin air: It was the melting point of cyanide, one of my
greatest enthusiasms.
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