"Hold on, my shadow's whispering something.."
Muttering noises fill the air.
"What?"
More murmurs, slightly louder than before.
"No you can't eat the butler."
Irritated whispers.
"Hey, could one of your chefs roast a cow or something for my shadow? She's feeling peckish- and I would hate for her to decide to make her own snack."
“She'd become a governess. It was one of the few jobs a known lady could do. And she'd taken to it well. She'd sworn that if she did indeed ever find herself dancing on rooftops with chimney sweeps she'd beat herself to death with her own umbrella.”
― Hogfather