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| Ho! Antony! The Americans hath fled there yonder, the hills are guards to their wary souls. | |
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| Ah, the we shall rush them! I want to rip their beating hearts out of their weakling chests and show the beating mass to their pitiful faces. | |
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| Aye me, my Lord. Sir, what be there flying over the battlefield towards us? | |
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| For it is undoubtedly the eagle of good fortune. Rally the legi- | |
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