If only she had remembered the Polynesian lessons, none of this would have happened. However, Penelope reminded herself, there was certainly no sense in crying over spilt milk. She simply couldn't speak Polynesian, and that was that. Of course, if she had been able to speak Polynesian she probably wouldn't have just been thrown into the crater of a volcano on a remote south-sea island, or at least she didn't think that she would have.
Focus, she told herself. Why think about this rubbish in the last few seconds of your life? The wind rushed past her as her elliptical tragectory steepened. Wasn't your life supposed to flash before your eyes or something? Penelope was really rather grateful that it didn't, to be honest. There were several things she'd rather not see again, frankly, at least not in the last few seconds that seperated her from the waiting, seething mass of lava below.
Bother, she thought, dying certainly isn't all it's cracked up t
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