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The Rain that Hammered like Boating Giraffes A Short Story by Jane Doe Forest Ball looked at the stripy teapot in his hands and felt relaxed. He walked over to the window and reflected on his cosy surroundings. He had always loved chilly Skegness with its muddy, melodic mountains. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel relaxed. Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Phil Barker. Phil was a clumsy author with curvaceous legs and grubby arms.
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