Merde! Non, non, non!
[A man is pacing back and forth, crumpling papers and tossing them, successfully, into the trash pale off beside him.]
That won't do. That simply won't do at all!
[He presses his hands against the desk, leaning over it.]
Sacrament! My muse, my muse! Where are you, my perfect muse, for without you, all that I write is drivel!
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