[A certain Baltic nation has barricaded himself in the closet. He is sitting in the corner about now, and may or may not be talking to himself. In Latin.]
[Head lolling back a little, so that it rests aginst the wall; otherwise, though, not moving. The door opens just a crack, and then stops, as though something's jamming it.]
We are deceived by the semblance of what is right.
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Liet, it's totally not funny anymore.
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Losses to which we are accustomed affect us less deeply.*
*camp-translated
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Liet, you're freaking me out.
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We are deceived by the semblance of what is right.
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Lithuania?
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Therefore whoever desires peace, let him prepare for war.
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