PR-CONAN
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“Of course, I’m a witch.” Conan answered half awake. He yawned, smiling at his ferret. “We’re all witches here—if they’re not then they’ve long died.” The tone of his voice had dropped, as if it was something he wasn’t supposed to say. “That is, if they wanted to be with witches.” He shrugged, standing up. “You know what I mean, right?”