Out of the Chocolate box (7)

The tiny finger-sized USB jumped out of the suit’s shallow pocket and plopped to the floor. I reached down to pick it up.
It grew legs and scuttled away, under my feet near where the bed’s storage compartment meets the floor.

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The T-Team With Mr B (10)

And Rick complained, ‘Would you mind not coughing all over the place?’
‘I can’t help it,’ I wheezed. ‘I need some fresh air.’
Matt held his throat and rasped, ‘I can’t breathe.’
Mr. B glanced back at his son. ‘What’s that, boy?’
‘I can’t breathe,’ his son said.

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