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Baptiste stepped out to look at the sky. "Come," he cried, returning. "We can stop now, it is growing gray in the east, almost morning." "But not yet," said Nataline; "we must wait for the first red. A few more turns. Let's finish it up with a song." She shook her head and piped up the refrain of the old Canadian chanson: "En roulant ma boule-le roulant En roulant ma bou-le."
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