Crowley's anger fades as though he's a puppet who's strings were suddenly cut, the anxious tension draining from him to be replaced by a different sort of fear. It's obvious the wheels are turning, while he tries to figure out why he's missing a few days.
He can't help glancing around him at the fog; it had already disoriented him, has made him feel physically unwell. What's to say it couldn't do this, too?]
I don't remember.
[It sounds like I'm sorry.]
There was a fire, at the bookshop. S'the last thing I can remember.
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Crowley's anger fades as though he's a puppet who's strings were suddenly cut, the anxious tension draining from him to be replaced by a different sort of fear. It's obvious the wheels are turning, while he tries to figure out why he's missing a few days.
He can't help glancing around him at the fog; it had already disoriented him, has made him feel physically unwell. What's to say it couldn't do this, too?]
I don't remember.
[It sounds like I'm sorry.]
There was a fire, at the bookshop. S'the last thing I can remember.