"If I had my druthers every one, I'd have my wooden druthers, too." It sounded like an incantation, or the first couple lines of a poem maybe. It seemed, in the dark and under the moon, like lyrics from a very old song, translated too many times into too many tongues to be traced to ground.
—E. R. Stuart, "Wooden Druthers," The Year's Best Fantasy and Horror, 2000.
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