In a fit of anger and despair, he rushed towards the castle intent on rescuing his love and killing the evil witch. To his horror he found he could approach no nearer than fifty feet. There was no barrier. He did not meet some invisible wall and bash his nose. He was not hurt. It was simply that, at that distance, he would take a step forward and find himself magically back at the edge of the clearing. All the long afternoon he tried to get to the castle until he was utterly weary. As darkness fell he threw himself down where he was and slept the sleep of exhaustion.In the morning, cold, hunger and a hard bed had cooled his ardour somewhat and returned his reason. The bitter reality was that it was useless trying to assault the castle directly. It was protected by magic and he would have to find some other means, probably magical, of circumventing the witch's spell. He sat on the ground as the day grew brighter around him and his mind was filled with despair.His first resolve was to. " Owen said, trying hard to pronounce the 'Yves' properly without sounding too affected."Call me Phillip, please," said Marchant. "I think you're far enough along in the interview process for us to be on a first name basis." Owen was delighted to hear this and said as good-naturedly as he could, "Thank you Phillip." Well," Marchant interrupted, throwing Owen off, just as he was starting to feel comfortable, "This, I think, will be your last interview. I hope that after we're done, you'll have a job."Owen didn't know if this meant he was almost a shoe in, or if he was in for some kind of sudden death scenario. All he could do was to sit there, nod, and smile like an idiot."But first, David, please. Let me get you something to drink. What will you take?"Before Owen could respond, Marchant shouted the word "Min!" upon which Owen saw the door on the Frenchman's left crack open slightly followed by the appearance of a thin, naked Far Eastern girl with disproportionately large.
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