[ He flops, he sprawls, he pulls blankets and furs up to his nose. (He does have limits, with the weather. It's officially Cold.) And when he's settled he nods—ten, eleven years, and there's still a little bit of a lump in his throat. But he talks around it just fine. ]
Yes. I mean, no one knit me anything, but they liked me well enough.
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Yes. I mean, no one knit me anything, but they liked me well enough.