As regards the map, this was the beginning of an Aesop-like fable - 'How the Underground lines got their colours' - because they were all given a colour, although not the 'right' ones from today's perspective.
Ninety-nine out of a hundred of them could neither read nor write.
My fortune, said the Duke, is too vast to be hurt by a petty wound; and I have, as thou knowest, a thousand salves in store for the scratches and scars which it sometimes receives in greasing my machinery. / Your Grace does not mean Dr Wilderhead's powder of projection? / Pshaw! he is a quacksalver and mountebank.
My fortune,
is too vast to be hurt by a petty wound; and I have, as thou knowest, a thousand salves in store for the scratches and scars which it sometimes receives in greasing my machinery.
Your Grace does not mean Dr Wilderhead's powder of projection?
Pshaw! he is a quacksalver and mountebank.
Even the lowly banana ball, the bane of so many weekenders, sometimes can be exactly right, as in this case.
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