"Why, son?"
"Cos each time I walk to the workshop, I have to screw up my face like this.." he demonstrates; - eyes and lips squeezed together tightly, as if with a smearing of super glue. Shoulders hunched and leaning more to the right - like an off-balance Quasimodo double.. "so that the overgrowth doesn't touch me. Otherwise, the sneezing fits start."
The end in sight - the Workshop side door:
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