“So, er, you’d like to check these out?” I inquire.


“No.” He replies drolly, almost like I’m an idiot. “These are items I’d like to donate.” He has an English accent and a distinct way of pronouncing his words.

“I’m sorry.” I say. “I can’t explain it, but we are temporarily not accepting donations.” I really can’t explain it because none of it makes any sense. Why aren’t we accepting donations?

“The blue potion in particular will bring great success to your institution.” He says in his emphatic, yet slightly sinister way.

“Would I have to drink it?” I ask curiously.

“I’m afraid so.” He says in a way that suggests I’ve stumbled upon the down side of the opportunity.

“I really do wish we could take them.” I say. “The scrap of paper looks like it could be a particular boon to our collection.”

He gives me an assessing look. “That it would be.” He says with an air of compelling and disturbing mystery. “It would be indeed.”

“Anything else I could help you with today?” I ask brightly.

“No.” He replies.


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