"There can be no compromise with war."

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Did she just-" "Yes." "But I don't-" "Yes you do. We both stink." "Well, I'm not-" "Yes. You are." He huffed. "You wont let-" "No. No complaining. Let's go." I grabbed a clean shirt and pants from my saddlebags. "Well, she could have handled it better," he grumped. "No. She couldn't." He settled into a sulky silence as we visited the bathhouse.

— Maria V. Snyder