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But it was all rather provoking to poor hungry Simpkin!
Particularly he was vexed with some little shrill voices from behind a
wooden lattice. I think that they were bats, because they always
have very small voices—especially in a black frost, when they talk in
their sleep, like the Tailor of Gloucester.
They said something mysterious that sounded like—
"Buz, quoth the blue fly, hum, quoth the bee, Buz and hum they cry, and so do we!"
and Simpkin went away shaking his ears as if he had a bee in his
bonnet. |
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