Working with Type

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I wish! It’s a nickel. This is the worst part. The calm before the battle. We need rest. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is spongy and bruised. Daylight and everything.

Listen. Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony. Burn her! The Lady of the Lake, her arm clad in the purest shimmering samite, held aloft Excalibur from the bosom of the water, signifying by divine providence that I, Arthur, was to carry Excalibur. That is why I am your king. I dunno. Must be a king. Oh, ow!

Bloody Peasant! Now, look here, my good man– No, no, no! Yes, yes. A bit. But she’s got a wart. Well, how’d you become king, then? A newt?

Found them? In Mercia?! The coconut’s tropical! Who’s that then? Camelot! And the hat. She’s a witch! Oh! Come and see the violence inherent in the system! Help, help, I’m being repressed! Well, we did do the nose

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