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The distant cactus danced grotesquely and black spots flitted between her and the molten iron over which, her fancy said they traveled. Suddenly she laughed crazily: "'Twas brillig, and the slythy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe!" DeWitt laughed hoarsely. "That's just the way it looks to me, Rhoda. But you're just as crazy as I am."
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