In the little shack next to the hangar, Viola swore and grumbled.  The little rat, Molly had disappeared after tea service, and she hadn’t returned.  Florence was in a right state looking for her.   That left her to do the dishes the brat had left behind.  It would probably be better for her not to return at all, she thought with a nasty little grin.
Above her there was a sharp crack, and she looked up just in time to see a pencil fall through the roof and plop into the sink, soaking her, but missing her head by inches.

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