The Mystery of Choice
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The Purple Emperor watched me in silence. I cast again, spinning out six feet more of waterproof silk, and, as the line hissed through the air far across the pool, I saw my three flies fall on the water like drifting thistledown. The Purple Emperor sneered. "You see," he said, "I am right. There is not a trout in Brittany that will rise to a tailed fly." "They do in America," I replied. "Zut! for...