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An hour passed; two hours, but no gold-laden message came over the wire. Hinpoha had been chewing her fingers for the last hour. "Oh, please stop that," cried Gladys irritably, "you make me nervous. You remind me of a cannibal." "Isn't there a poem about 'My beautiful Cannibalee?" returned Hinpoha. "I'll go out and eat grass if that will make you feel any better," she continued.
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