"Keep down," he said. He lifted his suit-radio and flicked on the transmission-switch. "This is Lee Hartford, late of the First Regiment," he announced. "The safety-suits of most of you have been breached. There is not room for more than three of you in the Decontamination Vehicle. You are not septic. I repeat: you have not been contaminated. Kansas is as safe for you as the Barracks, or Titan, or the M'Bwene planets, or in the cells at Luna. You do not need your safety-suits on Kansas."
Jorgenson, boiling inside, nevertheless knew what he was doing. He said succinctly:
A chance came to go to Ga-le-na, in the State of Il-li-nois. There Grant was a clerk in a store where they sold hides. There he was when the war broke out, and the South and the North, which had been as one, were now two, and full of hate.
On a certain evening in spring, ten months after the destruction of Athens, Zopyrus and his friend Masistius, sat outside the entrance of the latter’s tent in the Persian encampment near Thebes. The night was cool for that time of the year, but the chill was warded off to some extent by a brightly blazing fire.
He turned and left her, a pitiful drooping figure. Her posture remained the same for some moments after he had gone, and so preoccupied was she that she did not hear Asia re-enter the garden and seat herself beside her.
As a business man, he'd acted very foolishly. But he'd acted even less sensibly as a human being. He'd gotten fed up with a social system and a—call it—theology it wasn't his business to change. True, the Thrid way of life was appalling, and what had happened to Ganti was probably typical. But it wasn't Jorgenson's affair. He'd been unwise to let it disturb him. If the Thrid wanted things this way, it was their privilege.
"Worried, Arthur?" he asked in a confidential voice behind the shield of the Times, although there was no one in the room just then but himself and his nephew.
The leader whirled on the youth and snarled an order. He lowered the rifle, muttering. Blackbeard turned back to Retief.
“And lit them cum abownding” ses I snorting, “Its a foine gintlemanly sort” ses I “wud abound into the prisince of a loidy. If it’s oanly the bounding kind ye’re haveing here, Miss Claire, theyd bitter kape their distance frum me kitchen.”
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