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... shimmers in the late-afternoon sun. Though admirers still flock to the tent for a view of Pip, the line for bookings has slowly dwindled. The swooning barmaids and gasping nobles now replaced by quiet, post-satisfaction murmurings of those lucky enough to get a taste of Market Town's busiest secret.
In a dark, partitioned-off section of the booth, Pip sits upright on a small, cushioned chair, shifting cheerfully from side to side as steam puffs from his hips. Penelo, humming happily as ...
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