"Symestreem," Peony said, reading the off the slate. "Very nice name indeed." Peony looked around the inn for a moment trying to find Deva, but no sign of him anywhere.
"So, where do you come from Symestreem?" While Peony waited for Symestreem to scribble down an answer she turned to Gwenneth, "What shall we have for lunch." She waited patiently for both to answer.
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"Let us live so that when we come to die even the undertaker will be sorry." - Mark Twain
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