If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would.

What do you read, my lord?

Words, words, words. Once I had the gift. I could make love out of words as a potter makes cups out of clay, that overthrows empires, love that binds two hearts together come hellfire and brimstone; for sixpence a line I could cause a riot in a nunnery, but now...

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