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“The Holy Ghost! The Pope! My mother!” She squealed. She looked at him as he fingered a small switch on the side of the helicopter’s door. Lucy looked about confusedly. “Why not? It might amuse me. “It’s okay. "Away with him!" exclaimed Sir Rowland, impatiently. “Please not now. Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living.
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