[…] they were commytted to prison & put out of theyr offyces & the Constable of the Towre made custos of the citye.
My shirt was too big and its collar sat loosely around my crêpey neck.
‘Yes, bonny wee thing, I’ll wear you in my bosom, lest my jewel I should tyne.’
Maxwell made a lunge at his flabbergasted guest, who ducked just in time to escape the great hands reaching for him.
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