“We don’t want to kill him.”Rupert rolled over onto his back, groaning in agony. He looked up at the man that had spoken, an older sergeant with...a kind face, who was looking at him with a resigned expression. “Thank you!” he gasped through the pain.The sergeant squatted down and said, “You match the description, but I’d like confirmation. Are you Commander Rupert Grant? We’ll get a DNA test to confirm it, so you might as well save us both the aggravation.”Knowing that his only chance now was to. I'm in the "bore you to death" part of law school's three year cycle: scare you to death, work you to death, bore you to death. I began reading the Australian Indigenous Law Review online. Everything discussed seemed so sad. Every attitude since 1788, even the best-intentioned, seemed to be off. Each activity went awry.The same thing could happen that happened to the American Indians, being a ward of the government was better for them short-term, but destroyed their work ethic and social. More

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