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'Dolomitic conglomerates! Get chore dolomitic conglomerates heeyar! Manganese nodules! Manganese nodules! Get them while they're . . . uh . , . nodule-shaped.' He hesitated a bit, and then rallied. 'Pumice! Pumice! Tufa a dollar! Roast limestones—'
A few trolls wandered up to stare at him.
'You, sir, you look . .'Lovely and fresh! Just like mother used to hew!'
'Yeah, and there's bloody quartz all through dis granite,' said another troll, towering over Dibbler. 'Clogs the arteries, quartz.'
He slammed the rock back on the tray. The . hungry,' said Dibbler, grinning widely at the smallest troll. 'Why not try our shale on a bun? Mmm-mmm! Taste that alluvial deposit, know what I mean?'C. M. O. T. Dibbler had a number of bad points, but species prejudice was not one of them. He liked anyone who had money, regardless of the colour and shape of the hand that was proffering it. For Dibbler believed in a world where a sapient creature could walk tall, breathe free, pursue life, liberty and happiness, and step out towards the bright new dawn. If they could be persuaded to gobble something off Dibbler's hot-food tray at the same time, this was all to the good.The troll inspected the tray suspiciously, and lifted up a bun.'Urrh, yuk,' he said, 'it's got all ammonites in it! Yuk!''Pardon?' said Dibbler.'Dis shale,' said the troll, 'is stale.'
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