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    At the approach of spring the red squirrels got under my house, two at a time, directly under my feet as I sat reading or writing, and kept up the queerest chuckling and chirruping and vocal pirouetting and gurgling sounds that ever were heard; and when I stamped they only chirruped the louder, as if past all fear and respect in their mad pranks, defying humanity to stop them.  No, you don't -- chickaree -- chickaree.  They were wholly deaf to my arguments, or failed to perceive their force, and fell into a strain of invective that was irresistible.
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