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And there, shimmering in the Mist right next to us, was the last person I wanted to see: Mr. D, wearing his leopard-skin jogging suit and rummaging through the refrigerator. He looked up lazily. “Do you mind?”Where’s Chiron!” I shouted.How rude.” Mr. D took a swig from a jug of grape juice. “Is that how you say hello?”Hello,” I amended. “We’re about to die! Where’s Chiron?
