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"I don't know what you find so charming about Ivan, anyway," says Miles.

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"Lots of people like me, Miles."

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"Unaccountably."

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"I have people skills. 'S a thing. Though I admit I wasn't particularly trying to charm Mark."

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"Anyway, Miles, you know how I feel about interacting with real people."

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"No, I don't. And am I not a real person now?"

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Disgruntled noise.

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"Have you been made of soap and twine all along, Miles?"

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"No!"

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"String and glue? The fevered nightmares of Illyan?"

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"Mark has a much better claim to being made of Illyan's fevered nightmares than I do."

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A giggle from behind the zorkmid crates.

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"Anyway. Perhaps in the future I will find something insensitive to do and then you'll like me less and we can greet each other face to face, possibly frowning at the time."

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"Noooo," giggles Mark.

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"Implausible or undesirable?" inquires Ivan.

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"I suppose I can carry on pretending you're an invisible basement monster if you like."

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"Wondering if I should've got Aunt Cordelia to, I don't know, brief me on my way in."

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"That might've helped."

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"Is it too late now?"

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"Probably not."

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"Right then. Nice to meet you insofar as I have done, Mark."

And Ivan goes upstairs and looks for Cordelia.
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Cordelia is very findable.

"Hello. Have you been to see Miles yet?"
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"Yes. And to not-see Mark."

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