I love you? His song, floating out through the door of the mud hut into the tropical night, inspired the cows in the corral to add “Moo,” and out of the night rose the song of hundreds of frogs on the steep banks of the Red River. “Did you say bugs?” Her husband looked at her skeptically. “There couldn’t have been any bugs in that flour. I soldered those tins up myself.” “Well, my dear, did you think that your magic touch could discourage them? I said we took a liter and a half of bugs out, and we did.” Millie stuck to her point. “How could bugs multiply without any air?” “We didn’t learn that in biology or anything else that I ever studied, so I don’t know. I only wish we had some eggs so that I could make a cake for a change.” “Why don’t we have eggs? We’ve got chickens. Do you mean those hens are lazy?” Harry looked indignant. His wife looked a bit exasperated. “How do I know if they’re lazy, or tired out, or undernourished, or bored, or on strike? I give them plenty of food.” Betty offered her suggestion, “I think they are laying eggs and eating them all.” “I think they lack calcium,” Tom remarked. “Hmmmm.” Harry stroked his imaginary beard. “I’ll have to look into this. I have it! I have it!” “What do you have?”
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