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"Friday afternoon, I was sitting with Grover at the lake, resting from a near-death experience on the climbing wall. Grover had scampered to the top like a mountain goat, but the lava had almost gotten me. My shirt had smoking holes in it. The hairs had been singed off my forearms. We sat on the pier, watching the naiads do whatever basket-weaving, until I got up the nerve to ask Grover how his conviction with Mr. D had gone.

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