"Careful, Truna," Remi muttered.
"Go fetch that pernicious junk and throw it away," Truna ordered peremptorily, bringing about her peroration.
The perturbed workers shuffled off perforce to dispose of the gas-powered machines.
"You're gonna get in trouble one day," Remi told her perspicaciously. "When you get out of office and lose your perquisites..."
"Yeah, yeah, they'll send me off to perennial perdition. But you should know by now, we've all spent too many years perpending our problems, it's time to do something. I don't care if the accuse me of perfidy, once the ideas permeate, they'll be too pervasive for pertinacity."
Remi perambulates the field with perfunctory persiflage. "Your perfusion of perseverating words may not work on them."
"It will take a wild permutation to get rid of me," Truna growls, glaring forward.
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