A house’s underneathness is crushing—weight of sleep pressing from the flats above, little lumps of coal releasing miniature avalanches which rattle down the black pile, furnace grimly dead, asbestos-covered arms prying into every corner.
He rolled in five minutes late, without even saying sorry.
Their plumed helmes are wrought with beaten golde, / Their ſwords enameld, and about their neckes / Hangs maſſie chaines of golde downe to the waſte, / In euery part exceding braue and rich.
The rabbits, the squirrels and the crickets held court, And resolved to pravint all radiculous spourt; […]
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