A tiny white head with a small red wattle hanging from its beak was peeking into our tent. It whistled softly. I laughed. A guinea fowl.

Nor are there hardly any who either treat of mutation or mixtion of sexes, who have not left some mention of this point […]

retroareolar carcinoma

Lest that too heavenly form, pretended / To hellish falsehood, snare them.