Truth walked on the stage, and the theater erupted in cacophony. Voices hooted, screamed, and cursed. Men stood on their chairs to shout pleas of love. Others turned pale and fell senseless to the floor. Everywhere, faces were twisted in shock, adoration, hatred, or revulsion.
"What's all the fuss?" asked Chesterton. He lifted his opera glasses. "She's not doing anything. Looks a bit plain, really."
"I think," said the Marquis de Rebeille, "that one's view of Truth rather depends on the angle."
"Blast and botheration," said Chesterton. He peered at his pasteboard tickets. "No wonder these seats were so cheap."
The Subtle Skill of Royal Assassin
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