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| Phil verDilfer went up the hill for pilfered silver in a flivver, had a will for not paying his bills for what he'd kill for. | |
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| A foreign orange tasting like porridge tossed at the door hinge of a storage closet, neighbors found abhorrenge, now in quarengtine. | |
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| It's no longer April, bring out your May pole, and get a good spray full of rain by the drainful while you conceive future Capril corns if you go by the eight-months-a-babe rule. | |
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