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The green of their bodies was no more brilliant than the coat of the little man. At such moments the little Frogman would scamper up to his bower in the treetops and verdampfershop chuckle and dance and sing lustily. When he bathed within the waters of the Yellow Sea, vast typhoons rose. Just a few bubbles on the yellow water proclaimed that he had handed. Each time he rose to the surface he was a golden statue, the glistening yellow mud clinging like paint to his skin.

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