It was a cold, dark night. The bats were about. Other shapes were slowly manoeuvring in the gloom. They were feeding greedily but none came out, save one; alone-aloof and singing to himself.
And then, in the darkness, came the strangely familiar words, "All by myself, don't wanna be-all by myself, anymore..." Oh it was Phil with a little log for his fire-bless.
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