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... ond landing had been working itself loose for a week.
Not dangerously loose. Just the sort of loose that made a small complaint whenever someone grabbed the railing going upstairs. A faint little clink. I’d been meaning to fix it. Then the soup happened. And the marjoram. And the ceiling fog. And Officer Davan, who had opinions about the ceiling fog.
So it kept getting postponed.
Now I actually had the tools out. It was a five-minute job if I didn’t get distracted.
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