From his spot in the closest closet he could find and shut himself in, George King watched through slats as everything unfolded. 

            Abigail had a knife on a broom, and she’d rolled in between the beaver and Molly at the last moment. She’d thrusted the knife on a broom into the beaver, cleaving off its left forepaw. There was a spurt of blood, and the beaver spun. It fell down onto its back. 

            Abigail kept rolling, but Molly was safe. 

            George groaned as he realized that this was the end of his making out with anyone. 

                     ...

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