Bęthberry applauded Aman's award until her hands hurt. At least the activity shook out the stiffness caused by all that writing this morning. Then, a glance at Mithadan, who was frantically pointing to his watch, suggested that he was worried the awards show would run overtime.
But she had a terrible problem. None of her awardees were present. Or had even answered any PMs. What was she to do? She decided to play for time, and cued the musicians to play another Beatles' tune, We all live in a yellow submarine.
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I’ll sing his roots off. I’ll sing a wind up and blow leaf and branch away.
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