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puddingtons
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About this journal
Let him that vizard keep unto his grave,
That vain unsurping of an hounour'd name;
We'll dance his masque as if it were the truth,
Enlist the poniards swift of Those who, sworn
To punctual vendetta never sleep,
Lest at the palest whisper of the name
Sweet Niccolò hath stol'n, one trice be lost
In bringing down a fell and soulless doom
Unutterable...

October 2013
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