“The hands had moved one minute, now reading 11:59. Odd. I liked it when numbers were dependable. Having a broken watch was getting to me.
Wee Scrooge in his flapping nightshirt rose from the center of the stage on a belt and pulley and flew out of his bed crying, “Oh, Spirit of Christmas Present, speak kindness to me that I might not faint from lack of hope.”
Offstage the Scotsman’s booming voice replied, “You have yet a few more images to view before this night is passed.”
I smiled at the sight of flailing Scrooge being whisked back and forth across the stage on the sophisticated rigging. One of his slippers fell off, prompting a ruffle of chuckles from the audience. The Peter Pan touch was endearing.
Just then I felt a soft tap on my shoulder. Katharine stood in the aisle, motioning for me to follow her out into the lobby.
I slipped out as quietly as I could.
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