Meaty smells were wafting out of the oven as L cooked, and Rupert just had to go for a sniff.
"He's quality control, our personal FDA," I joked as L tried to shoo him out.
"Well, anyone would pass his standards, they're not that high," L retorted as Roop went from sniffing the oven door to sniffing the dustbin.
"Err, he's China FDA."
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