'Does that book say if monkeys have pulses?' he said. 'Is his nose supposed to be cold, or what?'

There was a little sound, such as might be made by half a dozen people all sharply drawing in their breath at once. The other wizards began to edge away from their Senior Wrangler.

There was, for a few seconds, no other sound but the crackling of the fire and the howl of the wind outside.

The wizards shuffled back.

The Senior Wrangler, in the astonished tones of someone still possessing all known limbs, very slowly took off his pointy hat. This was something a wizard would normally do only in the most sombre of circumstances.

Well, that's it, then,' he said. 'Poor chap's on his way home. Back to the big desert in the sky.'

'Er. rainforest, possibly,' said Ponder Stibbons.

'Maybe Mrs Whitlow could make him some hot nourishing soup?' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

Archchancellor Ridcully thought about the housekeeper's hot nourishing soup. 'Kill or cure, I suppose,' he murmured. He patted the Librarian carefully. 'Buck up, old chap,' he said. 'Soon have you back on your feet and continuing to make a valued contribution.'

'Knuckles,' said the Dean helpfully.

'Say again?'

'Knuckles, rather than feet.'

'Castors,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

'Bad taste, that man,' said the Archchancellor.

They wandered out of the room. From the corridor came their retreating voices:

'Looked very pale around the antimacassar, I thought.'

'Surely there's some sort of a cure?'

'The old place won't be the same without him.'

'Definitely one of a kind.'

When they'd gone the Librarian reached up cautiously, pulled a piece of blanket over his head, cuddled his hot-water bottle and sneezed.

Now there were two hot-water bottles, one of them a lot bigger than the other and with a teddy bear cover in red fur.