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It was raining hard and full dark when I squelched across the grass and blóted Erce (Jǫrð, Eorþe), Hreþe and Nerthus in case Tacitus and/or Bede was right, Fjǫrgyn in case I'm wrong, Ægir, Rán, their nine daughters, and Nehalennia, with more rosé. Advantage of a screw-top bottle, I could close it between rechargings of the horn.
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