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CORTINULA.
Yes, several tasks, I have no doubt: evidently just not effectively communicating rhetoric on parchment, or at least not to such a degree that you would feel secure enough to refrain from justifying. At length. With considerable and highly unnecessary crankiness, which inevitably leads to this following question: did someone unnaturally decaffeinate your coffee this morning? Really, this is all rather going the way of methinks the lady doth protest -- but oh, of course you don't find that joke funny. (Much obliged, of course; dear me, did I forget to proffer my thanks? My word, where are my manners. And peek though you may, but peek without a very obvious way of craning your neck you cannot yet.) (Falling from sixty feet in the air will have that effect. Apparently. This is all theoretical up to a point.)

Without permission, but what's a little semantics before a game. This is, of course, granting the premise that such plans exist outside of Potter's considerably-oversized cranium. And suffer, indeed, but suffer to what degree? (Names, princess. Though it's fascinating to know that you thought I might take into consideration what you find funny and allow that to -- perhaps? can it be? -- modulate my own opinions in that regard.)