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"Thanks for your help with the slugs."
It rained that morning.
"Books can be very dangerous."
Phaedra checked her pocket watch; he was late, Prospero P. Smith.
"There's no sense in panicking!"
Phaedra came into Slug and Jiggers that Sunday, as she did every Sunday, to meet with suppliers and a few select clients while the shop was closed.
"A pity -- I was enjoying that."
"Phaedra, do you know what happened to the tarantulas? I was sure we had more."
"This isn't a Victorian novel."
She waited for him til four o’clock on Sunday, distractedly disemboweling horned toads in a state of increasing agitation, before she accepted that he wouldn’t be coming.
"Are you suggesting that I embezzle rodents?"
Phaedra emerged from the shower, her skin raw and pink with steam, to find Hector in the living room, wrestling a lightning bolt.
"A regular holiday."
Phaedra stumbled towards Diagon Alley in the chill, pale light of dawn, her feet frozen in her thin, leather boots.
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