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[...] "Sam, Sam, where's the master?" shouted Poll, in a reedy-weedy tone, like a cracked clarionet, as soon as the lads came in sight. "Stealing the grapes. Stealing the grapes," she shouted again. "Rogues, rogues, rogues! Two in the morning, hi! hi!" And then she gave a shrill whistle, and burst out into a loud hearty laugh, that made Fred stare, it was so natural. "There," said Philip, proudly, "you haven't got such birds as that in London." "Oh yes, we have," said Fred, "but Papa don't care about buying them. Poor Polly," he continued, putting his finger in to stroke the parrot.[...].
[...] "Sam, Sam, where's the master?" shouted Poll, in a reedy-weedy tone, like a cracked clarionet, as soon as the lads came in sight. "Stealing the grapes. Stealing the grapes," she shouted again. "Rogues, rogues, rogues! Two in the morning, hi! hi!" And then she gave a shrill whistle, and burst out into a loud hearty laugh, that made Fred stare, it was so natural. "There," said Philip, proudly, "you haven't got such birds as that in London." "Oh yes, we have," said Fred, "but Papa don't care about buying them. Poor Polly," he continued, putting his finger in to stroke the parrot.[...].
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