"
Just then, the Wicked Witch of the Deep South opened her eyes and sat
up. She looked around, slowly. Dorothy stiffened, expecting to hear the
usual barrage of abuse. Instead, the Witch spoke quite softly. "So, my
little one," she sneered, "you decided to help me, eh? Well, it won't do
you any good."
"You would have died, if it hadn't been for Dorothy," said the Scarecrow.
"Really now?" said the Witch. "Is that true, Dorothy dear?"
"Yes, it is," replied Dorothy quietly.
"Why would you want to save me?" said the Witch in the same mocking tone.
"Because all life is precious," said Dorothy. "Even yours."
"Precious to whom, might I ask?"
"Well, isn't it precious to you?" replied Dorothy.
The Witch didn't answer. Instead, she stared straight ahead, as if
mesmerized. "Well, isn't it?" asked Dorothy again.
"No," said the Witch, her voice shaking as if she were about to cry.
Dorothy was quite surprised by the turn in events. She had never seen
the Witch so docile, so dejected. Her voice softened. "Is there any way
we can help you?" she asked kindly.
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