He pulled out a single half-blackened disc of bronze. "Money," he said. "You get it by working, and then you trade it for things you want."But it's so small," said Runnel."So's your wit," said the man, and turned away.
Orson Scott CardAbout author
- Author's profession: Writer
- Nationality: american
- Born: August 24, 1951
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I had a smell in my nose that just wouldn't go away, and I hated it. It was coating my lungs inside, I thought, and I'd spend the rest of my life breathing it in and breathing it out. The odor was composed of burning building materials, scorched bodies, and disintegrating vampires. It was the smell of hatred.
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