"A poet," said he, "will look for songs anywhere".
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"I am sorry," I said, "but I cannot allow you to accompany me".
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Andreas clapped his hands on my shoulders.
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"Hear, dull-witted scion of the caste of Warriors," he said, "my friends are more important to me than even my songs".
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I tried to be light.
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I feigned skepticism.
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"Are you truly of the caste of Poets?" "Never more truly than now," said Andreas, "for how could my songs be more important than the things they celebrate?" I marveled that he had said this, for I knew that the young Andreas of Tor might have given his arm or years of his life for what might be a true song, one worthy of what he had seen and felt and cared for.
"A poet," said he, "will look for songs anywhere".
"I am sorry," I said, "but I cannot allow you to accompany me".
Andreas clapped his hands on my shoulders.
"Hear, dull-witted scion of the caste of Warriors," he said, "my friends are more important to me than even my songs".
I tried to be light.
I feigned skepticism.
"Are you truly of the caste of Poets?" "Never more truly than now," said Andreas, "for how could my songs be more important than the things they celebrate?" I marveled that he had said this, for I knew that the young Andreas of Tor might have given his arm or years of his life for what might be a true song, one worthy of what he had seen and felt and cared for.
- (Outlaw of Gor, Chapter )