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      Heracles stepped out of the shadows where he had been listening.

      Here he comes, the Hero of the World, wearing a lion-skin and swinging his olive club.

      ‘Have a drink Atlas, you old globe. We’ve all got our burdens to bear. Your punishment is to hold up the universe. My punishment is to work for a wanker.’

      ‘And who’s to blame?’ said Atlas. ‘Not your father Zeus, but your foster-mother, Hera.’

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