Alas, the locket was broken…
It began as I tried to coerce the fellows on the corner into a match of jovial word-joust. Had I known that the scamps were unaccustomed to verbal wrestling, I would not have spoken so severely about their matriarchal lines.
In short order, it became clear that their loquacial lacking was make up for by their professional pugilism. My owl-framed spectacles were shattered. My ruffled shirt was soiled. And, alas, my lovely pink locket was broken.
Perhaps Mummy will be able to repair it. Mummy!
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