Just as I stepped out of the shower, I got a call from a state senator who was planning to run for a down-ballot statewide office against the mayor of a suburban city.
Is any man loth to leave his priſon? or to remove his dwelling from cruel enemies? or to ſcape the hands of murderous robbers? Do we take the world indeed for our priſon? our cruel, ſpoyling, murderous foe? and yet we are loth to leave it?
I fulfild his requeſt: and comming to him, dauncer quoth hee if thou daunce a Gods name God ſpeede thee: I cannot follow thee a foote farther, but adieu good dauncer, God ſpeed thee if thou daunce a Gods name.
Tibbles the cat rubbed up against my leg, asking for a piece of my cheese.
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