Abstract
Well, it's very late now, little elf. What are you doing here? Im looking for a place to sleep, answered the little elf. You can come with me, said Mr. Potato zealously. There is a pot of dough that is rising. It is soft and resilient. There, I imagine, you'll have a sound sleep. Following Mr. Potato, the little elf entered the kitchen. The idea of sleeping in the dough was such a strange idea, but one as perfect as he had ever heard. As Mr. Potato had described it, the kitchen and all in it were at sixes and sevens:
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