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It was a sunny day; no birds sang but the light shimmered and the wind whispered sweetly, rustling bare branches.

"Makes you want to leave work early and hop on the old broom, doesn't it?"

"Or curl up on the roof with my familiar and a good tome."

"I'd hang my hats out for an airing myself."

The witches sighed wistfully, then finished their lunch, before heading back to their cubicles, "The hexes don't write themselves."

"If only."

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