“You mean you don’t know it’s true?” said Brutha. “I think it might be,” said Didactylos. “I could be wrong. Not being certain is what being a philosopher is all about.” “Talk about gods,” said Om. “Gods,” said Brutha weakly. His mind was on fire. These people made all these books about things, and they weren’t sure. But he’d been sure, and Brother Nhumrod had been sure, and Deacon Vorbis had a sureness you could bend horseshoes around. Sureness was a rock. Now he knew why, when Vorbis spoke about Ephebe, his face was gray with hatred and his voice was tense as a wire. If there was no truth,
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