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They blink at each other. May gestures at Isabella.

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"...And therefore even if we start with just the US and Canada and China, we're moderately likely to get decent coverage by including a request to put us in touch with bilingual people, runecasters or not, who can direct us to recipients in other places."

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"And France. If they'll tolerate reading French from a Canadian."

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"I'm told much of the objection is the accent. I imagine written French will be more tolerable."

She thinks. "It works as a first step. Were you going to give them a way to contact you...?"
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"Post office box in Toronto," says May. "Or out by you, if you prefer, but definitely in a big city so people have a hard time knocking on our doors about it."

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"Whichever is easier to rent anonymously, I suppose. We can look it up later."

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"We could also get burner phones, maybe."

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"Oh, nice."

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"Have either of you started a draft letter at all?"

Knowing her daughter, Vivian suspects the answer might be yes. Or possibly "I'm on draft twelve."
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"I have a bulleted list of content it should cover but didn't want to get attached to specific wording without discussing it."

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"I have an outline. Dear so and so. We are writing to inform you that insert summary here."

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"Well, that seems like the obvious next step. May? Where's a good place for us to sit and write?"

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"Inside works, unless you are big fans of lounging around in Canadian wilderness that's very inconvenient to get to without wings and invisibility."

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"Since I am tragically wingless, I'm happy with inside."

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"Sure." May leads them in. "Dad, this is Isabella and her mom Ms. Sun. And this is my dad, Charlie."

"'Lo," says Charlie, looking them over.

"We're gonna discuss our letter writing campaign."

"Mm-hm. Can I get you anything to drink?" Charlie asks.
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"Nice to meet you," Vivian says with a smile. "Thank you for having us. Just a glass of water would be great, thank you."

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Charlie gets her a glass of water. May and Isabella plunk down on the sofa together and compare notebooks.

"Damn," says May, "the handwriting thing is eerie."
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"No kidding. What the hell."

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Vivian is a mature, responsible adult and will not be saying 'I told you so.'

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"Why would that even happen. Do we have more eerie similarities? At least our notebooks aren't the same color."

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"I mean, I have more notebooks."

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"Ah-huh... Is that your wheelchair over there?"

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"Yeah. I don't always use it. Mostly when there's ice. I'm not paralyzed, just clumsy."

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"You're kidding."

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