To the untrue man, the whole universe is false—it is impalpable—it shrinks to nothing within his grasp. And he himself in so far as he shows himself in a false light, becomes a shadow.
Although Birdibil was warm in his family wungkurr or windbreak that night, lying next to a crackling fire and covered with some paperbark blankets (kawan), he had little sleep.
The Germans were loopholing it for defence.
Observe in the whole lot, from the magnificent lord of the herd down to the scranniest runt, the superlative of self-reliance, the air of puffy arrogance and solid disregard of public or private opinion such as few of us attain.
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