Momo was trapped at last. She cowered in a corner and gazed at her pursuers in terror with the hour-lily clasped to her chest.
All but three of its shimmering petals had withered and fallen.
The foremost man in gray was just about to snatch the flower when the other one yanked him away.
″No,″ he shrieked, ″that flower's mine! Mine, I tell you!″
They grappled with each other, and in the ensuing scrimmage the first man knocked the second man's cigar out of his mouth.
With a weird groan, the second man spun around, went transparent and vanished.
The last of the men in gray advanced on Momo with a minuscule cigar butt smouldering in the corner of his mouth.
″Give it here!″ he gasped, but as he did so the butt fell out of his mouth and rolled away under the table.
He flung himself to the ground and groped for it, but it eluded his outstretched fingers.
Turning his ashen face towards Momo, he struggled into a sitting position and raised one trembling hand.
″Please,″ he whispered faintly, ″please, dear child, give me the flower.″
Momo, still cowering in her corner, couldn't get a word out. She clasped the flower still tighter and shook her head.
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