“I see,” said Smith. “Thanks for eating the lion.”
“Don’t mention it—but it wasn’t wholly advisable. You see, I’m going to have to divide now. Can the other me go with you?”
“Of course. You saved our lives, and we’re going to need something to hang in the living room, when we have one.”
“Good.”
He divided, in a flurry of hemidemisemiquavers, and dropped to the floor beside them.
“Good-bye, me,” he called upward.
“Good-bye,” from above.
They walked proudly from the Modern, through the Greek, and past the Roman Period, with much hauteur and a wholly quiet dignity. Beaten Gladiator, Hecuba Lamenting, and Xena ex Machina no longer, they lifted the sleeping watchman’s key and walked out the door, down the stairs, and into the night, on youthful legs and drop-lines.