In that wasteland of white there was nothing for his mind to hang onto, no familiar sight or sound. Pale, icy teeth adorned the ragged oak, snarling down at his scarred, broken body as he tended the flames, their heat seeming distant as smoke drifted from his pipe. Black coffee.
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Well, you are a pain in my ass.

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Mission accomplished.
End of conversation
New conversation -
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"A box of kittens."
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