| 1234567891011121314151617181920212223242526 | Mrs. Veliociraptor was having Mrs. Utahraptor over for some incrediblypleasant afternoon tea. The scones were fresh and smelled of blueberriesand strife and the sugar-cubes were just old enough that they gave off themost delicate moaning noise when separated."Rather afraid the mice got to the cake. Left it on the lower shelvesby mistake.""Oh, bother!" Mrs. Utahraptor replied. "That was the cake you were tellingMrs. Pterodactyl about, weren't you? A post-structuralist screed with afrosting of hedge funds?""No. I made that cake last month for the widow of ol' Mrs. Smilodon, resther soul. No, this one was a long brown one--hazelnuts, cinnamon, andmondegreens of songs you heard from your parents' room when you were young and have never heard since.""Mrs. Deionychus has a good one. It's fear, hanging cadence and possiblelovers who have forgotten your face and whose sudden unexpected appearanceon the street drowns you in a flood of possible realities just out ofreach of a time you can barely remember.""Ooh, that *was* a good one. I liked her almond, too."They talked for a while longer, but before long their speech was mathematical symbols, so who knows what they were saying for sure?
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