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I'm afraid that is out of the question.
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A stout man contains some five quarts of blood...
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...which, if you will forgive the boast...
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...I can consume in a mere seven and a half seconds.
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But you, my dear little wisp...
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I dare say I shall drink you to a withered husk
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in less than five.
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Please don't kill me. You're a good man. You're a gentleman.
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-Please, forgive me. -Madam.
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I am neither good nor gentle, and I do not forgive.
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I should tell you, Willie...
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...if you ever speak a word of this to anyone...