Your wristwatch-like "interpretron" takes only moments to translate what these lovely Roman giantesses are saying. <p> "It can't be alive!" exclaims one of the two kneeling at the pool's edge: "It has to some discarded child's toy." <p> Her companion agrees: "Cleverly carved and painted! But, still just a toy." <p> Your captor sneers at this: "How can a mere toy move like a shadow-puppet? No! If this is a toy, it was not made by mortal hands." <p> "You mean...?" gasp the other two bathers (identical twins) in unison. <p> "Yes! This is obviously a gift to us, from the goddess Vesta. Manufactured by Vulcan, himself." <p> This statement makes you rigid with near-panic. Because, your captor's statement is proof that you've materialized in a bathhouse reserved strictly for Vestal Virgins. An automatic death sentence for any male trespasser caught, therein!
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