Okay well Monsieur Baker is clueless. Let’s go out and get more info.
Dude, it’s freezing.
Don’t worry—there’s a pub! *the* pub, in fact.
Hey bartender! Beer here. Say, it’s prolly good beer if it’s as good as your geese.
Huh?
The goose club.
Oh that! Well that’s from a shop over there—hey, where’d they go?
*
O Goose-seller!
Go away.
Nah. I have a bet that your goose what I ate is country bred. So f-off.
Oh yeah? Bet me then. Here—I’m a give you full access to all my legal ledgers and sh*t.
Huh. Kk thx.
Welp. Now we know who bred the geese. Problem is, do we go find her now, or do we…
/a clamorous uproar. A fracas, if you will/
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