[…] I conceit him to be neere a kin to him who set forth a Passion Sermon with a formall Dedicatory in great letters to our Saviour.
Wheat or rye shells in reaping.
For soon were to sound out in all tragic dramaticness, now high now low, now in defeat and now jubilantly triumphant, the drums and tramplings of world-wide hostilities.
For every square inch of wax, there were somewhere in the area of 19,000 hairs to be yanked. That is—to put it in technical terms—a fuckuva lot of adhesive force.
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