| twerboart | Дата: Вторник, 28.05.2013, 19:20 | Сообщение # 1 |
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| He was still on his hands and knees.He sat back on his heels, gasping.I've treated you with good humor, like equals, really.And where is the respect I'm due?Really, I'm just tired of it now.That's why we've been looking for the sword in the first place.This — thing — that suffers from the delusion that it is its own — person — is actually nothing of the kind, do you understand?No more than a stone rolling down a hill is capable of real self-locomotion.Or an abacus of doing math by itself.What was in this sword was me, plain and simple.
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If someone cut your leg off and the leg starting calling itself вЂUmbra,' it would still be your leg, wouldn't it?You wouldn't humor it, would you?
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Help it out with its delusions of grandeur?Not nearly so dumb as you look.You were telling me where the rest of me is.I created it, me.Its real name is — » He scratched his chin.
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