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The rise and fall of my sloppy love

The smatterings and splatterings, they'll get you.

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They walked along the corridor through a set of double doors and found a rickety staircase lined with more portraits of brutal-looking Healers. As they climbed it, the various Healers called out to them, diagnosing odd complaints and suggesting horrible remedies. Ron was seriously affronted when a medieval wizard called out that he clearly had a bad case of spattergroit.
"And what's that supposed to be?" he asked angrily, as the Healer pursued him through six more portraits, shoving the occupants out of the way.
"'Tis a most grievous affliction of the skin, young master, that will leave you pockmarked and more gruesome even than you are now--"
"Watch who you're calling gruesome!" said Ron, his ears turning red.
"The only remedy is to take the liver of toad, bind it tight about your throat, stand naked by the full moon in a barrel of eels' eyes--"
"I have not got spattergroit!"
"But the unsightly blemishes upon your visage, young master--"
"They're freckles!" said Ron furiously. "Now get back in your own picture and leave me alone!"

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