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The door swings again, and in walks a man with the dust of a long journey on his clothes. He eyes the tart with a slight smile, scratches the loyal dog behind it's twitching ear and gives the visitors a nod. Stepping up next to the wanderer at the bar, he orders a pint of ale.
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Birth, wealth, and position are valueless during wartime. Man is only judged by his character --Soldier's Testament.
Death, like birth, is a secret of Nature. - Marcus Aurelius.
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