High Noon?
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High Noon?
Let us skip the other lies, for brevity’s sake. To consider them would prove nothing, except that man is what he is—loving toward his own, lovable, to his own,—his family, his friends—and otherwise the buzzing, busy trivial, enemy of his race—who tarries his little day, does his little dirt, commends himself to God, and then goes out into the darkness, to re-turn no more, and send no messages back—selfish even in death.
Mark Twain
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