Dear Ms. Hollowfox, Your gifts -- which were as expensive as journal subscriptions and as expansive as Charles Aimee Cutter's classification scheme -- were burned when the outhouse caught fire and it spread to Warehouse Number 3, where your gifts were stored. Everything was a complete loss, but we will start over as soon as we catch those elves that left the fire suppression system be used as a giant distillery. Do not fret, dearie. Thecla will come through for you. Sincerely yours, /s/ Thecla (Mrs. Santa) Claus
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