"Is it proper?" she asked.
"Oh, absolutely. The books state that the Prime Minister's wife tries in every way possible to relieve her husband of the burden of power."
"In that case, I'll be happy to try." She sat down in front of the great pile of papers. "But, dear, I don't know anything about these matters."
"Rely on instinct," Nob answered, yawning. "That's what I do."
Flattered by the importance of her task, she set to work with a will.
Several hours later, she awakened her husband, who was slumbering on the couch.
"I've got them all finished except these," she said. "In this one, I'm afraid I don't understand that word."
Nob glanced at the paper. "Oh, propaganda. That means giving the people the facts, whether true or false. It's very important in any war."
"I don't see why."
"It's obvious. To have a genuine Earth-style war, you need ideological differences. That's why we chose a dictatorship and the other continent chose a democracy. The job of propaganda is to keep us different."