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Nightside the Long Sun, Gene Wolfe

"Silk stared at him, rubbed his wrist, and a last spat at the old man's feet. 'You cheated. You said I couldn't hit with my stick, but you hit me with yours.'

'I did! Oh, Yes!' The old man flung it into the air and parried it as it fell. 'But aren't I sorry? Isn't my heart torn? Overflowing with remorse? Oh, it is, it is! I weep! Where would you like to be buried?'"

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