“Do you fancy me? Mister Jenkins?”
Zakariah sighed and snatched his glasses off the tip of his nose and placed them irritably on the table. He turned, and said, incredibly annoyed, “No, Mister Hargreaves, I am sorry to tell you-as I have told you countless times before--I. Do. Not. Fancy. You
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and we should move all our stuff over :O just to have it condensed?
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