[Voice Post]
...oh, it can-- [static, pages flipping.]
--r fuck's sake, Felix, you gone done some stupid shit before, but this is just motherfucking [incomprehensible slurred cursing combined with Mildmay holding the journal too far away from his mouth makes these next few words generally inaudible]. You better fucking fix it, or whatever hocus
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You... seen... a... walking... stick?
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Describe it, son. Erm....slow-like.
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Any walking stick in particular, or will any old stick do?
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[Which should be the end of that, but the problem with asking for walking sticks is that it makes the asker sound like they might be in some trouble without.]
You need someone to go get one for you?
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[At this, he hesitates slightly-- the indignity of not only needing a walking stick, but needing someone to fetch one for him, may kill him.]
Don't want to trouble you, ma'am. I'll manage.
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[ it had taken some doing but anne had a little experience with heavy accents; marilla would hate to know it but she'd spoken with some of the buote boys from rustico and their thick french voices could be just as hard to make out, sometimes. especially from behind all that chewing tobacco. ]
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[ her voice is prim-sounding but of a sort that is clearly affected. the primness a country girl puts on after falling love with far too many far-off tales of palaces and princesses and russian tsarinas kidnapped by gypsies. ] The journals are quite assuredly enchanted and if you talk to them, you talk to all of us.
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Y'all're telling me they're hocus sh- stuff?
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You should watch your mouth. There could be kids listening in.
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Well it's been a while since I was a New Feather, but I'm pretty sure they still drop off most of your belongings in the stores here.
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New Feathers'd be me, I'm gue-- You're telling folks're gonna pawn my shit?
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