& just when our maiden had got good & used to her isolation, stopped daily expecting to be rescued, had come to almost love her tower, along comes This Prince with absolutely all the wrong answers. Of course she had not been brought up to look for originality or gingerbread so at first she was quite undaunted by his tendency to talk in strung-together cliché. 'Just hang on and we'll get you out of there' he hollered like a fireman in some soap opera when she confided her plight (the old hag inside eic. & how trapped she was): well, it was corny but he did look sort of gorgeous axe and all. So there she was, humming & pulling all the pins out of her chignon, throwing him all the usual lifelines till, soon, he was shimmying in & out every other day as though he owned the place, bringing her the sex manuals & skeins of silk from which she was meant, eventually, to weave the means of her own escape. 'All very well & good, ' she prompted, 'but when exactly? ' She gave him till well past the bell on the timeclock.
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