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A big mallet hit Fred again and he fell forward onto the slab. The first
one glared at his companions from behind Fred. "Now cram an apple into
his mouth and stop listening to him!" he exclaimed. "I swear, we're
going to eat this one! No deals!" Somewhat shamefaced, the other two meekly peeled off Fred, seasoned him up with sage, salt, and pepper, and wrapped him tight in a muslin sheet. After an hour had gone by, they filled a large shallow pan with vinegar and lifted him into it. Fred popped the apple out, but they popped a new one in and let him marinade, turning him every half hour. The spectre that was expert with ingredients figured 7 minutes per pound, and he was right on target. Smothered with onions and basted every fifteen minutes in a low oven, they agreed that Fred had been well worth the trouble. And now they knew how to get the lava man as well, as soon as they figured out what, exactly, dirt was. "In the meantime, have another steak," the leader said to the first one. He picked up the serving fork and carving knife. "Pass your plate. Gravy?" "Oh yes please. That Fred seemed to have a tough exterior, but he was a very tender man," the first one said. The second one nodded, mouth full. "Of course, that vinegar marinade does wonders," he added. "Are there any more ribs?" The leader sighed regretfully. "No. I'm afraid that was the end of Fred."
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