The next morning arrived bright and clear. Othmer gave Marigold a kiss and she left for work, calling, “I’ll see you tonight.”

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Othmer waved to her till she was out of sight, then he rushed downstairs to his inky concoction. He picked up the nib, filled it with ink, and murmured, “I better be careful how much I use. I can’t waste this ink.” He gave himself a swift prick, then hurried back upstairs.

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Looking at his hand, he exclaimed, “Now to test it again. Maybe I can take my hand off?”