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| You're too late, Mr. Bond. My henchmen are about to kill you, World War III is starting, and my investment in winter wheat will go sky high. | |
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| Where's the jovial comeback? The snappy pun that suggests I'm about to be thwarted. You're not yourself, Mr. Bond. | |
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| I know, I know. Ever since I heard that damned Carly Simon song, I've felt rather insignificant. | |
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