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I thought as much.
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Two hundred denarii a piece,
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and you may lay hidden here until sun crests
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and curfew is lifted.
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It is not sleep we seek.
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What deformity of mind do you think I suffer from,
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that I would give further aid to enemies of Rome?
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You hold no love of the republic.
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Sentiment often through wine so in years past.
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Words of the drunk and food, jealous of privilege.
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We find ourselves heavy with Roman coin.
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What cost would sober intent?