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We’d had a wealth of gods in Cornwall, there was a god under every rock, in every tree and pool, but at Camelot we were beggars. And He was a piss-poor God at that, who never dared to show Himself. Never owned up to all the trouble He caused. The coward. “And how He hates the other gods! He has to be the only one—He wants to eat them all and then sit there, a fat little God in the middle of an empty world.
