Edgar Degas Dancer

Bursar dropped his spoon into his oatmeal.
“See what I mean?” said Ridcully. “Bundle o’ nerves the
whole time. I WAS SAYING YOU COULD DO WITH
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Terry Pratchett
SOME FRESH AIR, BURSAR.” He nudged the Dean heavily. “Hope he’s not going off his rocker, poor fella,” he said, in what “Got to be someone else, too,” said Ridcully. “Volunteers, anyone?”
The wizards, townies to a man, bent industriously over their food. They always bent industriously over their food in any case, but this time they were doing it to avoid catching Ridcully’s eye.
“What about the Librarian?” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes, throwing a random victim to the he chose to believe was a whisper. “Spends too much time indoors, if you get my drift.”The Dean, who went outdoors about once a month, shrugged his shoulders.“I EXPECT YOU’D LIKE A LITTLE TIME AWAYFROM THE UNIVERSITY, EH?” said the Archchancellor, nodding and grimacing madly. “Peace and quiet? Healthy country livin’?”“I, I, I, I should like that very much, Archchancellor,” said the Bursar, hope rising in his face like an autumn mushroom.“Good man. Good man. You shall come with me,” said Ridcully, beaming.The Bursar’s expression froze.