Blergh.
So yesterday the cold that had been looming on the horizon of Froodle Island finally struck in a whirlwind of snot, watery eyes and dry, hacking cough. I had four different people at work ask if I was alright, since I appeared to be hunched over my desk, crying silently onto my keyboard. Fun. So I'm lying in bed feeling sorry for myself,
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At lunch today, one of my friends suggested that the Carver might be Merril; I mean, he did try to cut Christian's face off. I just don't see Merril being... not so much the craziness, but the organisation. I don't see him as that calculated.
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