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I hate getting up at this unearthly hour, Treville.
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Why do people harp on about the beauty of the sunrise?
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It happens every day with tedious regularity.
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Please, move back, back. Please, Your Majesty, back.
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This had better be good, Treville.
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There's barely enough powder to fire a musket.
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A few grains of this miraculous powder could sink a galleon.
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I am prepared to give up its formula.
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At what price?
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The Spanish have kidnapped my daughter.
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They are holding her here, in Paris. I want her back.
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Do we have a deal?