He had a flattish, perhaps, it should be called, a flattened nose, and a brown, leathernlooking hide, that seemed as if it had not unfrequently undergone the process of tanning. He had meant to be master of his fate that evening and it had escaped him altogether. Immediately a feathered hat emerged, under which a familiar countenance was visible. My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter.
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