I haven't said anything in a while, have I? Seems like it, anyway–I'm accustomed to nattering. This one was made pretty quickly, as nice days can be pretty disasterous for my productivity. That's probably why so many really great authors lived in the foggy ice torn islands of the bitter European north. Dickens was so thoroughly surrounded by malevolent attitude and sullen, stick-to-itive damp that writing about the struggles of orphans was his only in-road into a sunny world.
I, however, have a mild fascination with pompous headwear.
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