She greeted me and I said to her on the phone that I could remove the seeds of my wrong plants to prevent floral falsification until I have exchanged them with autochtone plants. Since they are not available for purchase, I would have to grow them from seeds from the original biotopes. I asked her if I could count on her help to get them legally.

Oh,well..,she said, and I heard the click when she finally decided to reclassify me from the category of "intelligent, unimportant disciple of nature protection, who may perhaps finally attain the right to kiss her feet" to the category "unworthy, despised, worthless heretic which deserves to burn forever."

"NOOOO!!!!!" , she screamed into the receiver. "REMOVING THE SEEDS!!! YOU WON'T GET ANY HELP FROM ME! YOU HAVE NOT EVEN UNDERSTOOD WHAT I HAVE TOLD YOU! WE ARE ALWAYS HAVING TO DEAL WITH GUYS LIKE YOURSELF!"

Finally, she exposed her true face. "But I want to help...", I stuttered...

Nhumrod shrugged. "He is very obedient," he said. "And... well, there's his memory. As perfect, that is, as anything may be in this imperfect world."

"A devoutly read young man," said Vorbis.

"Er," said Nhumrod, "No. He can't read. Or write."

"Ah. A >lazy< boy."

The deacon was not a man who dwelt in grey areas.

Terry Pratchett, "Small gods"