gets stale.'
Mr Bookmite sat bolt upright, then leapt to his feet in a single move (quite a feat of athleticism given his advanced years and chronic shortness of breath).
'I feel wonderful,' he declared, 'never better. Thank you, dear child, for your elixir of youth. Bring me more and I'll give you anything you want for your book.'
'How about fifty thousand?' Rosie asked, thinking she was being a bit cheeky, but I later told her she should have asked for a cool hundred thou.
'Done!' he shouted, then ...