[…] it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my travels; in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humorous sadness.
Irenka was up front using the lavatory when the lights in the cabin went red and the klaxon sounded over the speakers.
That heater will start a fire if you don't fix it.
Julian Assange personally reads every document to be published, types it up and formats it on his laptop while wearing a beaglepuss.
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