Let us not beat about the bush. There are people whom you feel obliged to rescue from the results of their own ill-judged actions. In all candour they may be an idiot, but in some unquantifiable way, they are ‘your’ idiot. I know one should be firm with them and make them face up to the consequences of their ridiculous behaviour but if you did, they’d probably not live long enough to give you the satisfaction of saying ‘I told you so.’
In my case the individual is Lancet Foredeck. I have known him all my life, since we were snotty-nosed brats playing together in some of Port Naain’s grimier streets.
But on this occasion I felt he had excelled himself and had pushed back the barriers of suicidal stupidity further than any reasonable person might have thought they could be pushed.
He insulted Cruen Richpole. Now I’ve had dealings…
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