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... zz hovered close by his ear, whispering ten ridiculous wishes ("A flock of obedient goats. A sack that makes more sacks. A comb that fixes your hair by faith alone."). John smiled and shut his eyes anyway. He made a wish he didn’t tell. He didn’t wish for power or gold or revenge or even safety. He wished for people—for this to last, for it to repeat, for it to become the kind of trouble that follows you on purpose.
He opened his eyes, took the knife, and cut.
"Speech!" Pim yelle ...
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