Today I tidied the quarters of Master Goose, and by careless hand swept away half a worn brush rest. The goose flew into a great rage, its serrated beak flashing cold light, and chased me for miles, leaving my fingers unable to bend or straighten. My coursework remains unfinished. I humbly ask for one day's extension.
Reply: Granted. Bring your work tomorrow for in-person review. This goose is exceedingly fond of old brush rests. Prepare three for him, and offer kind words of comfort; he will surely forgive you.
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