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| You walk into a busy room, hares continually filtering in and out holding pieces of parchment. One approaches you and says, "I am Rissle, the 8th Spring Runner at yah service, doncha know! Yah have a form for Balit, do yah? Well, give it to me 'n I'll deliver it to him faster than the flippin' blink of an eye, wot wot!" He begins to stretch as he waits for you to give him the form. | |||||||||||||||||||
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