1. he wasn't sick--it was just a subterfuge
2. the holding company was just a blind
1. "You see', said Ukridge, ' I dislike subterfuge'."
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Quote by P.G. Wodehouse
2. "The Painting is not shit,' said Lucien. 'I know,' said Henri. 'That was just part of the subterfuge. I am of royal lineage; subterfuge is one of the many talents we carry in our blood, along with guile and hemophilia."
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Christopher Moore, Sacré Bleu: A Comedy d'Art
3. "Fate was but one more world-born subterfuge, another lie men used to give meaning to their abject helplessness."
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R. Scott Bakker, The Warrior Prophet: The Prince of Nothing
4. "This new subterfuge is, of course, calculated to deceive the simple and innocent into thinking that the matter is settled."
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Martin Luther, The Bondage of the Will
5. "Wisdom isn't everything. Survival requires an element of trickery, Chaos, subterfuge. All qualities I possess (if I may say so) in abundance."
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Joanne Harris, The Gospel of Loki
6. "But that afternoon he asked himself, with his infinite capacity for illusion, if such pitiless indifference might not be a subterfuge for hiding the torments of love."
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Gabriel García Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera
7. "So how do magistrates understand the word civilization? Where do we stand with it? Justice reduced to subterfuge and trickery! The law to machinations! Appalling!"
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Victor Hugo, The Last Day of a Condemned Man
8. "He turned to appease the fierce longings of his heart before which everything else was idle and alien. He cared little that he was in mortal sin, that his life had grown to be a tissue of subterfuge and falsehood."
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James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
9. "I know no one is perfect, that behind every facade of perfection is a writhing mess of subterfuge and secret sorrows... but even taking that into account, Noah was pretty much perfect."
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Maureen Johnson, Let It Snow: Three Holiday Romances
10. "He burned to appease the fierce longing of his heart before which everything else was idle and alien. He cared little that he was in mortal sin, that his life had grown to be a tissue of subterfuge and falsehood. Beside the savage desire within him to realise the enormities which he brooded on nothing was sacred."
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James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man / Dubliners