You have work to do, Snicket, I told myself. I told myself that it didn't matter and that certainly it was no time to frown around town. I'd said good-bye to someone very quickly and was wishing I'd taken longer. When the tea arrived, for a moment the steam was all I could see. It had hung in my closet for weeks, like an empty person. I was wearing the suit I'd been given as a graduation present. The Hemlock sells paper and pens that are damaged and useless, but the tea is drinkable, and the place is located across the street from the train station, so it is an acceptable place to sit with one's parents before boarding a train for a new life. The food at the Hemlock is too awful to eat, particularly the eggs, which are probably the worst eggs in the entire city, including those on exhibit at the Museum of Bad Breakfast, where visitors can learn just how badly eggs can be prepared. They were not clean on the day in question. The Hemlock Tearoom and Stationery Shop is the sort of place where the floors always feel dirty, even when they are clean. I should have asked the question "Why would someone say something was stolen when it was never theirs to begin with?" Instead, I asked the wrong question-four wrong questions, more or less. I was living in the town, and I was hired to investigate the theft, and I thought the girl had nothing to do with it. There was a town, and there was a girl, and there was a theft.
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