“I do believe, Miss Juniper, that the wind has shifted and our immolation is imminent.”
“Tsk. Such a pity. And to think—I just acquired this hat!”
“Oh, but what a lovely chapeau in which to die, my dear. Perfect, even.”
“Why Count Bologna, you do say the sweetest things. And might I add that your new bicorn hat is quite magnificent?”
“Yes, you may. It would be a pity for it to meet its doom quite unappreciated.”
The Count then squared his shoulders and raised his glass victoriously. “Na zdorovie!”
Junie joined in the toast. “Sláinte!”
They drank zestfully, and then pitched their glasses into the red-hot magma below.