“Very doubtful,” the man reads out loud while peering over the ball, “Doesn’t sound like a mouthful, but I’m sure that it’s…”
You cut him off before you hear him use another ill-matched rhyme. “I’ll be taking off now. Here’s your ball. Thank you for letting me shake it.”
“No problem, cherry blossom,” he says followed by some salutary versemongery and then you make your way back to the car.
Yet, before you can bring yourself to turn the ignition, the magic words of the obsidian orb stick to the inside of your mind like Rice Krispies treats on an unsprayed baking pan…
If you’ve had enough of this foolish, silly-willy, koo-koo nonsense, go to page 216 and head back home.
If you still hope to uncover something about your vision and continue westward, go to page 58.
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