At some point this morning, a little six-year-old sneaks out of the infirmary, where
she decided to sleep last nightShe's in the same outfit as yesterday, and her hair could use a good brushing and being pulled back again, but she's cheerfully sitting on a barstool eating chocolate chip pancakes and drinking chocolate milk
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"Those look really good," she comments, eyeing the pancakes. "What are they?"
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"They're chocolate chip pancakes, silly," Rilla giggles. "Do you want some? You can get anything you want by magic, you know."
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"My name's Nisha. What's yours?" Because its totally impolite to hold a conversation and not introduce yourself, no matter what your social standing is.
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Then she giggles. "Only not really. I'm just Rilla."
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"So, are those chocolate chip cake-thingys any good?" Poor Nisha; she's been so deprived.
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So giving.
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As they get to the business of eating pancakes, she asks, "So how did you find this place?"
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