With scoffs, and scorns, and contumelious taunts.
I'm fitting the ship for a summer sail home.
We must have a ceasefire in the who's the wokest of them all war.
who's the wokest of them all
They could hear a lot more than they could see. But what they heard told them exactly nothing. There were the klaxons, which kept up their long, monotonous, insane growling protest all through the raid.
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