[The Brit's sitting by one of the cafe's windows, snipping away at the local newspaper with a small pair of scissors. There's a pile of clippings placed dangerously close to his tea. At a safer distance away is an unfinished bit of embroidery (various flowers on a handkerchief, secured in a hoop). He utters,] All right... Decent enough. That one
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How pretty...
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Hello, Mr. England! I"m sorry!...It's just...Your embroidery is really pretty...
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