Chapter_421

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Ha, diverse the wounds were they tore in the quivering flesh of foes, these twain,

When under the onset of storming spears men reeled in the battle-strain

Now o’er the fresh-stricken corse of Achilles, anon in the conflict-travail

Of days wide-ruining! Ay, for of old the hate of malignant cavil

Consorted with cunning speech, and imagined deceit and the venomous sneer. Ah yes,

The bright names still it assails, and exalts the abjects’ fame which is rottenness.