There were, as yet, no angry letters.
William had been sick for the last week - he'd caught the tail-end of Maladicta's flu, and apparently living in whatever remained of her vampire immune-system had turned it into something to be reckoned with, or at least that's how it had felt at the time - and upon his arrival back at the office both the box
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Young had been the next word, but William had just that moment considered what he thought of as the Sacharissa Factor.
"-do you have any experience?" he said, smoothly1 changing tack.
1For a given value of smooth, involving sandpaper.
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William recognized that sort of trick, if only because he had a tendency to use it himself.
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Then he grinned.
"Welcome to the Times, Miss Granger. I see you've already got the hang of the more ... shall we say, complicated parts of journalism."
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It didn't matter if she didn't, really; being able to scrounge up a story was a big part of the learning curve.
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"Exactly my philosophy," William said. "I've always felt if no one is furious at me, I'm probably not doing my job properly."
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