The shopkeepers heart melts, he gets down on his knees so that he is on her level and says, “Do you want a widdle white wabbit, or a thoft bwack fwuffy wabbit, or perhaps one like that widdle bwown one over there?”
The little girl blushes, rocks back on her heels, puts her hands on her knees, leans forward and whispers, “I don’t wealy fink my anaconda gives a phuc.”
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