tribute: Thud!
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@@ -4109,26 +4109,31 @@ is theft, except mine.
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#
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#
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#
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%title Thud! (2)
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%title Thud! (7)
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# p. 39 (Harper Torch edition; passage starts mid-paragraph; speaker is Nobby)
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%passage 1
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Why bother with a cunning plan when a simple one will do?
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"Why mess about with a cunning plan when a simple one will do?"
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[Thud!, by Terry Pratchett]
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%e passage
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# pp. 334-336 (originally transcribed from some other edition)
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%passage 2
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#submitted by Boudewijn
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He wanted to sleep. He'd never felt this tired before.
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Vimes slumped to his knees, and then fell sideways on to the sand.
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When he forced open his eyes he saw pale stars above him, and had once
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again the sensation that there was someone else present.
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He turned his head, wincing at the stab of pain, and saw a small but
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brightly lit folding chair on the sand. A robed figure was reclining
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in it, reading a book. A scythe was stuck in the sand beside it.
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A white skeletal hand turned a page.
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He wanted to sleep. He'd never felt this tired before. Vimes slumped to
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his knees, and then fell sideways on to the sand.
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When he forced his eyes open, he saw pale stars above him, and had, once
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again, the sensation that there was someone else present.
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He turned his head, wincing at the stab of pain, and saw a small but
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brightly lit folding chair on the sand. A robed figure was reclining in
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it, reading a book. A scythe was stuck in the sand beside it.
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A white, skeletal hand turned a page.
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'You'll be Death, then?' said Vimes, after a while.
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AH. MISTER VIMES, ASTUTE AS EVER. GOT IT IN ONE, said Death, shutting
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the book on his finger to keep the place.
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AH, MISTER VIMES, ASTUTE AS EVER. GOT IT IN ONE, said Death, shutting the
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book on his finger to keep the place.
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'I've seen you before.'
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@@ -4136,42 +4141,122 @@ I HAVE WALKED WITH YOU MANY TIMES, MISTER VIMES.
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'And this is /it/, is it?'
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HAS IT NEVER STRUCK YOU THAT THE CONCEPT OF A WRITTEN NARRATIVE IS
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SOMEWHAT STRANGE? said Death.
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HAS IT NEVER STRUCK YOU THAT THE CONCEPT OF A WRITTEN NARRATIVE IS SOMEWHAT
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STRANGE? said Death.
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Vimes could tell when people were trying to avoid something they really
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didn't want to say, and it was happening here.
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'Is it?' he insisted. 'Is this it? This time I die?'
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'Is it?' he insisted. 'Is this it? This time I die?'
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COULD BE.
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'Could be? What sort of answer is that?' said Vimes.
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'Could be? What sort of answer is that?' said Vimes.
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A VERY ACCURATE ONE. YOU SEE, YOU ARE HAVING A NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE,
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WHICH INESCAPABLY MEANS THAT I MUST UNDERGO A NEAR VIMES EXPERIENCE.
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DON'T MIND ME. CARRY ON WHATEVER YOU WERE DOING. I HAVE A BOOK.
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A VERY ACCURATE ONE. YOU SEE, YOU ARE HAVING A NEAR-DEATH EXPERIENCE,
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WHICH INESCAPABLY MEANS THAT I MUST UNDERGO A NEAR-/VIMES/ EXPERIENCE.
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DON'T MIND ME. CARRY ON WITH WHATEVER YOU WERE DOING. I HAVE A BOOK.
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Vimes rolled over on to his stomach, gritted his teeth, and pushed himself
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on to his hands and knees again. He managed a few yards before slumping
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back down.
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He heard the sound of a chair being moved.
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Vimes rolled over on to his stomach, gritted his teeth and pushed
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himself on to his hands and knees again. He managed a few yards before
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slumping back down. He heard the sound of a chair being moved.
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'Shouldn't you be somewhere else?' he said.
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I AM, said Death, sitting down again.
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'But you're here!'
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AS WELL. Death turned a page and, for a person without breath, managed
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a pretty good sigh. IT APPEARS THAT THE BUTLER DID IT.
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AS WELL. Death turned a page and, for a person without breath, managed a
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pretty good sigh. IT APPEARS THAT THE BUTLER DID IT.
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'Did what?'
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IT IS A MADE-UP STORY. VERY STRANGE. ALL ONE NEEDS TO DO IS TURN TO THE
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LAST PAGE AND THE ANSWER IS THERE. WHAT, THEREFORE, IS THE POINT OF
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IT IS A MADE-UP STORY. VERY STRANGE. ALL ONE NEEDS TO DO IS TURN TO THE
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LAST PAGE AND THE ANSWER IS THERE. WHAT, THEREFORE, IS THE POINT OF
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DELIBERATEDLY NOT KNOWING?
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It sounded like gibberish to Vimes, so he ignored it. Some of the aches
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had gone, although his head still hammered. There was an empty feeling,
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everywhere. He just wanted to sleep.
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It sounded like gibberish to Vimes, so he ignored it. Some of the aches
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had gone, although his head still hammered. There was an empty feeling
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everywhere. He just wanted to sleep.
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[Thud!, by Terry Pratchett]
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%e passage
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# pp. 225-226
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%passage 3
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And I'm going home, Vimes repeated to himself. Everyone wants something
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from Vimes, even though I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Hell,
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I'm probably a spoon. Well I'm going to be Vimes, and Vimes reads
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/Where's My Cow?/ to Young Sam at six o'clock. With the noises done right.
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[Thud!, by Terry Pratchett]
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%e passage
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# pp. 261-262
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%passage 4
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Fred Colon peered through the bars. He was, on the whole, a pretty good
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jailer; he always had a pot of tea on the go, he was, as a general rule,
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amiably disposed to most people, he was too slow to be easily fooled, and
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he kept the cell keys in a box in the bottom drawer of his desk, a long
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way out of reach of any stick, hand, dog, cunningly thrown belt, or
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trained Klatchian monkey spider.(1)
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(1) Making Fred Colon possibly unique in the annals of jail history.
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[Thud!, by Terry Pratchett]
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%e passage
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# p. 287 (American spelling of 'theater' is accurate [Harper Torch edition])
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%passage 5
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Brushing aside cobwebs with one hand and holding up a lantern with the
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other, Sybil led the way past boxes of MEN'S BOOTS, VARIOUS; RISIBLE
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PUPPETS, STRING & GLOVE; MODEL THEATER AND SCENERY. Maybe that was the
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reason for their wealth: they bought things that were built to last, and
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now they seldom had to buy anything at all. Except food, of course, and
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even then Vimes would not have been surprised to see boxes labeled APPLE
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CORES, VARIOUS, or LEFTOVERS, NEED EATING UP.(1)
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(1) That was a phrase of Sybil's that got to him. She'd announce at lunch,
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"we must have the pork tonight, it needs eating up." Vimes never had an
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actual problem with this, because he'd been raised to eat what was put in
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front of him, and do it quickly, too, before someone else snatched it away.
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He was just puzzled at the suggestion that he was there to do the food a
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favor.
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[Thud!, by Terry Pratchett]
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%e passage
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# pp. 296-297
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%passage 6
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"Tell me Drumknott, are you a betting man at all?"
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"I have been know to have the occasional 'little flutter,' sir."
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"Given, then, a contest between an invisible and very powerful quasidemonic
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/thing/ of pure vengence on the one hand, and the commander on the other,
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where would you wager, say... one dollar?"
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"I wouldn't, sir. That looks like one that would go to the judges."
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"Yes," said Vetinari, staring thoughtfully at the closed door. "Yes,
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/indeed/."
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[Thud!, by Terry Pratchett]
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%e passage
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# p. 351 ('teeth-aching' probably ought to have been 'teeth-achingly')
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%passage 7
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Vimes reached up and took a mug of water from Angua. It was teeth-aching
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cold and the best drink he'd ever tasted. And his mind worked fast, flying
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in emergency supplies of common sense, as human minds do, to construct a
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huge anchor in sanity and prove that what happened hadn't really happened
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and, if it had happened, hadn't happened very much.
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It was all mystic, that's what it was. Oh, it /might/ all be true, but how
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could you ever tell? You had to stick to the things you can see. And you
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had to keep reminding yourself of that, too.
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Yeah, that was it. What had really happened, eh? A few signs? Well,
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anything can look like you want it to, if you're worried and confused
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enough, yes? A sheep can look like a cow, right? Ha!
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[Thud!, by Terry Pratchett]
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%e passage
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