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Updated: May 10, 2025
"'It's seven, your Majesty, says MacBethmann, 'shall I lay out yeer synthetic sausage or shall I fry up yesterday's sauerkraut? "But the 'Sausage-Killer' shakes his head. "'Mon Angus, he says, 'A've had a heedious dream. A' dreamt, says he, 'that A' went for to kill a wee sausage and A' dived for him and missed him and before A' could recover, the sausage bit me. 'Tis a warning, says he.
"'Sir, says MacBethmann, trembling in every limb and even in his neck, 'ye'd be wise no' to go out the day. "But the prood 'Sausage-Killer' rises himself to his full length. "'Unhand ma pants, Angus, says he, 'ma duty calls, and away goes the puir wee feller to meet his doom at the hands of the Terror of the Skies." "That's you," said the girl.
There was a discreet tap at the door, and Wilhelm MacBethmann, his faithful retainer, staggered in, bearin' his cup of acorn coffee. "'Rise, mein Herr, says he, 'get oot o' bed, ma bonnie laird. "'What o'clock is it, Angus? says the 'Sausage-Killer, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
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