My old friend had tricks, but then I knew its tricks, and I was not less displeased at its manoeuvres, than a good rider is at the well known plunges and careerings of a favorite steed.
This connoisseuse of “splendid weaknesses”, run not by any lust or even velleity but by vacuum: by the absence of human hope.
[…] which in turn smashed the stack with a new return address that the author hoped would point into the buffer and eventually hit the shellcode within it.
I now by instinct followed the streets that took me waterward, for there, doubtless, were the cheapest, if not the cheeriest inns.
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