“Slouchy, overstuffed gourds, all,” the stranger sniffed. “Large, perhaps, but hardly pumpkins.”

“I suppose you think you can show me a larger one than the prizewinners I see every fall, eh?”

“Of course I can,” said the stranger. “Look now to the east, where the great gourd slowly rises against the horizon. The dawn of a new age, where all will pump and all will be kin.”

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