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Updated: May 8, 2025
I know when I got it and I also know where I got it. I got about a gallon of the reddest, hottest coffee a bad boy ever spilled over himself. O-o-o-o-o-o! I can feel it yet! There were weeks after that when I was upholstered. They put applebutter on me and coal oil and white-of-an-egg and starch and anything else the neighbors could think of.
"I'm eating you. Now, you scream and I'll roar." "Oh, David, you little monkey! Listen to me: you weren't very polite to Dr. King." "O-o-o-o-o-o!" roared the bear. "You should make him feel you were glad to see him." "I wasn't," mumbled David. "But you must have manners, dear little boy." "I have," David defended himself, sitting up straight.
It was cold; it smelled of burned powder; it carried sounds he was beginning to appreciate shots, rumbles, spats, and thuds, whistles of varying degree, all isolated sounds. Then he caught a strange, low moaning. It rose. It was coming fast. It became an o-o-o-O-O-O! Nearer and nearer! It took on a singing whistle.
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