"Look at my leg," said Mīka´pi; "swollen and sore. See my wounded arm; I can hardly hold the bow. Far away is the home of my people, and my strength is gone. Surely here I must die, for I cannot walk, and I have no food."
ideal satta, She doesn't want in the very least to know who he is, but thinks it her duty to say something, as the silence being protracted grows embarrassing.
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ideal satta "No, I am not. Anything but that; and to be rude"—slowly—"answers no purpose. But I have some common sense, I hope.".
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