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Here's Another Fine Mess

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“Well,” said Illya, rattlng the manacles that secured him to the wall. “Are you going to admit that your decadent capitalistic ways have put us in this predicament?”

“My decadent capitalistic ways?” Napoleon countered, not in the least bit discomfited, despite the straps which held him down on a slab of scarred marble. “What about your encroaching communistic threats? I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t have ended up here without your speechifying.”

“Boys, boys,” Gaby said, slipping in through the narrow window and waving the lockpicks in her hand. “You both know exactly who should get the blame.”