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“I don’t suppose you’d mind picking up a scone or two. . . .” “I will get you some scones.” I sat in the chair. For some reason I was out of breath. “They never tasted the same either,” he said. “One wonders how that could be.” “Stop that,” I said sharply. “Don’t be childish.”
The Final Descent (The Monstrumologist, #4)
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