[Edmund's being pushed, let it be known, willingly, into the kitchen by his sister. He eventually breaks off into a little dash before Susan, hoping to stuff a few more good cookies in his mouth before she can send him on his way to a rather tasty death. Oh, but Edmund will die happy now if it happens.]
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Are you home?
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Don't think about it.
[One more push aside to count what are left out.]
Do you really call this kind? At this rate we'll have to start rationing like at home.
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Peter?
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