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"Kaween nishishin! kaw-ween!" howled the big monster, in his mixed-pickle macaronio, "je me sens saisi du mal-aux-raquettes, je ne pouvons plus. Why you go so dam fast, when hot sun he make snow for tire, eh? Sacr-r-ré raquettes! il me semble qu'ils se grossissent de plus en plus
"No one," she answered, "but my son; he is just beginning to kill deer." "No, no," he retorted; "some one is living with you." "Kaween, no indeed," replied the widow; "you are only making sport of my hapless condition. Who do you think would come and trouble themselves about me?"
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