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We make up every word and our wants drive many plots. We are distinction of a type and built by growing up. What are we?
In yore, I was aft of the jib. Still stern rooted, I am seen to lead. What am I?
Make zombie food healthy by taking yourself away
To steal fewer five cent coins, one must do this
To put old fashioned trousers on a waterfowl
A howl at a dent in the coastline
To be left is so dim. Instead, do this!
I sound like a jar closing tight and secure but hover above you.
Take two elemental masters of style, drain the color and sweep out the sand. Whats left will hold quite a lot.
A former jumping board game piece who inspects crosses and helps manage her majesty's books.
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