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Jan
me luver, w'ere did 'e land yerself to now 'en?. 'e be mis'n of the
party if'n the fog do 'ang low. Surely mornin' dew 'ull untune they
strings. If'n ee thinks it be braeme ezee to tickle they ivories w'th 'er
toes, no fear, 'tis 'ard work,yew.
ANYONE OUT THERE!!!
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