Leaning back on the restored Scrollarian vendta tera, she looked pale and gave her guest the prevarian eye. She spoke now only in pernicious circularity. Roundly he gave her the eye right back and she cupped it perspirianly. “Eat it!” he barked. Eyeing the eye, she allowed a rivulet of spittle to fall languid from her lip. “Why?” he asked again, this time repeatedly. “Why, why do you mock me?” Have I not been the idiom to which I am suited? Have I not swerved faithlessly?” A pall fell over them and then it fell over them again. “Again, why?”, he asked again. “Again.” she repeated with a touch of riparian ennui. “Give me the eye, now!” “Now?” “Now!” “When?” “What?” “Huh?”… On and on it went. What does ia all have to do with beer? Huh!? Who?
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