(As Oliver P. Chatterton steps into a room, his eyes immediately scan the space, searching for someone—anyone—with whom he can share the flood of thoughts that has been building inside him. Spotting a familiar face near the corner, he strides toward them, his footsteps light yet purposeful. Without hesitation, he gestures broadly with one hand, as if casting the opening line of a play)
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the most interesting person in the room,” (he says)
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