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You make a grab for the small dagger. Small as it is, you still
overestimate its length and prick yourself in the finger. Suddenly you
feel drowsy, and Witch Maggie's scornful cackle is the last thing you hear
before you fall into a hundred years long sleep.
At the end of the hundred years you get found by a dashing prince, who refuses to kiss you on account of his lacking acrobatic prowess. (Actually his exact words are "I don't swing that way.") You have to wait another hundred years before women's lib has advanced sufficiently to allow princesses to go adventuring and kissing sleeping strangers. You finally wake up, staring into the eyes of
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4/28/2011 4:06:30 AM
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