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strong sweeping circles. Bilbo never forgot that flight, clinging onto
Doris ankles.
He moaned my arms, my arms!; but Dori groaned my poor legs, my
poor legs! At the best of times heights made Bilbo giddy. He used to
turn queer if he looked over the edge of quite a little cliff; and he
had never liked ladders, let alone trees (never having had to escape