It was a hard whisper to catch at first, since the grey moustache concealed all movements of the lips, and something in its timbre disturbed me greatly; but by concentrating my attention I could soon make out its purport surprisingly well.
For since on ev'ry Sea, on ev'ry Coast, Your Men have been distress'd, your Navy tost, Sev'n times the Sun has either Tropick view'd, The Winter banishish'd, and the Spring renew'd.
The Telfaire prisonguard towers rise miragelike in the swampy sunlight like giant mushroom caps on grey concrete stalks.
Shepard: Sorry. If you were human, you'd both be called the mother, regardless of which one gave birth. Aethyta: Well, I'm not human, am I? Anthropocentric bag of dicks.
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