Ah! there in deepest solitude Sometimes I have wild nature wooed, When nought of living thing was nigh Except the Water-wag-tail shy, By nature's hand so trigly dight In speckled feathers, black and white, Which flew before from stone to stone, And hopped and bobbed thereupon;

Nicholas and his black-masked companions waited with feet planted apart as the dungeon master fumbled for his key ring.

He talks about it a lot, but I would bet my bottom dollar that he has never actually been there.

Yet again, many of them deſperat hairebraines, raſh, careleſſe, fit to be Aſſaſinates, as being voide of all Feare and Sorrow […]