He found a junk conference to attend so he could go somewhere warm last winter.

Louisa, who […] had but ill born the commencement of this conversation, could sit it no longer, and hastily throwing up the sash, complained of the intense heat of the room.

Is it not the Voice of my Beloved [Jesus]? Do I not hear him, with the most inſinuating Compellations, inviting me to his Table, bidding me to come, for all Things are ready; …

I put on a striped hooded sweatshirt I got from the five-dollar bin at the Esprit outlet, and my jelly shoes.