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"Oh, curse!" said Beetle uneasily. It was not his first season as a sacrifice. "Can't you get on without me?" "'Fraid not, Beetle, dear. You've got to be bullied by Turkey an' me. The more you howl, o' course, the better it'll be. Turkey, go an' covet a stump and a box-rope from somewhere. We'll tie him up for a kill a' la Galton.
Golly, what wrists you have, Seffy. They're too thick for a wipe; got a box-rope?" said he. "Lots in the corner," Sefton replied. "Hurry up! Stop blubbin', you brute, Beetle. We're goin' to have a giddy campaign. Losers have to sing for the winners sing odes in honor of the conqueror. You call yourself a beastly poet, don't you, Beetle? I'll poet you."
Beetle was trussed for cock-fighting; but, in addition to the transverse stump between elbow and knee, His knees were bound with a box-rope. In this posture, at a push from Stalky he rolled over sideways, covering himself with dust. "Ruffle his hair, Turkey. Now you get down, too. 'The bleatin' of the kid excites the tiger. You two are in such a sweatin' wax with me that you only curse.
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