“I told you,” Thomas said as he held up his hand, “Miss Logbook got my hand sticky,” He waved it as a gloop of honey dripped onto the floor. Thomas’s gaze turned to watch it intently and he bought his mouth to his hand, licking it.
“Why does honey exist?” He then shook his hand, trying to get it off and causing the honey to splatter across the room.

“Anyway,” and as if by magic, Thomas was happy again, “I found your wife.” He said, gesturing over-dramatically toward Fortuna who had crumpled onto the floor.

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