An image of a doll appeared on the screen. Dill moved his head and the doll moved the opposite way. He raised a hand and the doll raised chubby play-dough fingers to the screen. The was the first time he'd actually seen himself, there being no mirrors in either the study or the kitchen. The textpad spewed more lettering.
Not exactly handsome, are we? I wouldn't like to meet us on a dark alley. Just as well you never got anywhere with that bird you were sniffing after, is it? She'd scream as soon as she saw you now.
“She's dead, mate. Or undead, I should say. I helped turn her into an Egyptian mummy, only not actually Egyptian, obviously, on account of her being English.
Did you ever get to see her knickers?
“I saw more than that, mate. Full frontal, arse, everything.”
You jammy git
“Of course, you have to temper that with also seeing her liver, stomach, heart and intestines. The naked form holds less allure after you've just dropped all its internal organs into jam jars.”
Bummer. What did she look like, though? Fit?
“Only if you like women who look as if they've been on hunger strike for longer than you've been alive. There's no telling what she'll look like when she comes out of the salt bath.”
Ugly enough to look at you, you reckon?
Dill gazed at the expanse of dough that comprised his face. He poked it and watched the dimple slowly fade. “Only if we whip her eyes out as well.”