It was Novembery like yesterday & the air was clean & sharp.
Even without hovering drones, a lurking assassin, a thumping score and a denouement, the real-life story of Edward Snowden, a rogue spy on the run, could be straight out of the cinema. But, as with Hollywood, the subplots and exotic locations may distract from the real message: America’s discomfort and its foes’ glee.
No nightmare dreamed by man, no wild invention of the romancer, can ever equal the living horror of that place, and the weird crying of those voices of the night, as we clung like shipwrecked mariners to a raft, and tossed on the black, unfathomed wilderness of air.
Some men knowing this to bee their prerogative, […] that their Wives are bound by Gods Law to submit to their manly spirits, and riper judgements, may perchance out of their earthlinesse, and intolerable worldly-mindednesse, […], take the advantage and unconscionablely stand off, and refuse to give their consents unto their wives pious efflagitations and intreaties.
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