DAILY PHOTO: Gorkha Monuments
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Right Ho, Jeeves by P.G. Wodehouse
The words were whispered down the line, but changed at every turn. Some words were written down in time, but gathered up to burn. And no one knew unvarnished truth -- only some stray excerpts. They tried to cobble together the judgments of experts. But truth was not to be retrieved by way of slick guesses and in the end all they had left were their burning messes.
They told it slant, but not all the truth, and it rolled into the ears of the willing and into the minds of the faithful. And in those minds it was built into a swift machine, one of great power -- if little reality. But deaths never required reality of motive, only reality of matter. So, the wild stories became wild ideas that were the bane of us all.