Sarah Booth

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The men in that far country were liars, every one. Their mere howdy-do was a lie, because _they_ didn't care how you did, except they were undertakers. To the ordinary inquirer you lied in return; for you made no conscientious diagnostic of your case, but answered at random, and usually missed it considerably. You lied to the undertaker, and said your health was failing--a wholly commendable lie, since it cost you nothing and pleased the other man.
On the Decay of the Art of Lying
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