It's strange. On the midst of plenty, the basic desire is to cry out that there isn't enough: neither food nor water, neither shelter nor security, nor enough wealth. In the midst of security the feeling of danger is sharpened and in the midst of wealth the fear of poverty is near-overwhelming
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[He remembers that's the priest's voice. Long time ago, though. Or at least, it feels like it.]
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But whatever works.
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[Glaukir laughs.]
Keeps me fed. Keeps others fed, too.
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[Yes, he could. He's just amused.]
Philosophy keeps you fed?
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[Glaukir smiles.]
I slice, I dice, I make all kinds of contributions to society.
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[He smirks a little.]
Yeah, but can you make a mean omelet?
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What about you?
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Umm... My friend could. He never burned them, anyway. I was more... take-out, myself.
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Well, it is when you put it that way. Less so when you're on fridge-detail.
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[Again. But no one really knows about the other times, and he sees no point in mentioning it.]
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[Glaukir grins.]
A priest's budget isn't enough for me to donate the full amount, I'm sorry to say.
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