[Diarmuid’s patience is about to pay off, in the form of a horse demolishing the carrot in his hand and Laurent crouching to speak with his dog at eyelevel.
Laurent holds his empty hands out and, with a flourish, produces a bone made of ice from thin air.
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[Diarmuid’s patience is about to pay off, in the form of a horse demolishing the carrot in his hand and Laurent crouching to speak with his dog at eyelevel.
Laurent holds his empty hands out and, with a flourish, produces a bone made of ice from thin air.
To Diarmuid, as he plays with the dog:]
Any last complaints?