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21 Fable I go poorly. Cold says, “let me nibble your feet.” “No,” I say. “Only your toes, let me nibble them,” says Cold. “No,” I say. Cold says, “let me nibble your hands.” “No,” I say. “Only your fingertips, let me nibble them,” says Cold, “just a little bit.” “No,” I say. Frost smears the grass. “I’m hungry,” says Cold. I say nothing. “Let me nibble your ears,” says Cold. “No,” I say. Oak leaves tick, tick. “Let me nibble your nose, only the tip of your nose,” says Cold. “Only the tip? OK,” I say. “Good,” says Cold. The tip of my nose is cold, too cold. Cold is hungry and can’t stop— “Stop!” I shout. But it’s too late. I’m Cold. ...

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