"Frasca matter?" queried the Sage of the Age, observing his peaked disciple.
"My Cook can't even Boyle an egg," replied his assistant. "I've been eating Brennan butter Knight and day. If I thought a Kissel improve her cooking, I'd Reilly Troy. She thinks she's DeAngelo my life, but I'd like to Kelleher."
"Life is no Halladay," snapped Diverio-ld Seer in-Degnan-ly. "It's no Beaulieu cherries, but Albaness-y on you. Stetter sitting on your Haas, you Sullivan gun, Bryson predicting on the game. That takes Moran DeFilippe a Coyno. I say:
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Students Out to Out-Eat Hickman . . .
