“A certain shoemaker one of the chief towns of Silesia, in the year 1591, September 20, on a Friday betimes in the morning, in the further part of his house, where there was adjoining a little garden, cut his own… — Raymond T. McNally Copy Share Image
“Fuck you,” I hiss, so angry my vision blurs. With each word, my tone gets louder until I’m once again screaming, “Why bother asking me, if you weren’t going to actually give me the benefit of the doubt? That’s the… — H.A. Wills Copy Share Image
