Imagine my one attempt at rational conversation last night. Asking his views on female emigration . . . . Perhaps the bearings of the question would hardly suit mixed company.

Uric acid and allantoin are diureides.

She is so conjunctive to my life and soul / That, as the star moves not but in his sphere, / I could not but by her.

The natives dig clay from both places, in order to paint or rather redwash the walls of their huts.