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It's the top of a table, resting on four iron legs. Perhaps this is a room in my palace.

No... Nothing was quiet in the palace...or wherever it was that my tea party was held. And no children were allowed.

As I stare at the pure white underside of the table some writing appears. Well, it's sort of writing--but it's more a picture.

One moment it isn't there. The next moment it is.

 


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