[Will is in Xanadu, and currently lazing about beneath a tree, an apple in hand - green, for the record, rather than gold. He looks, it has to be said, exceptionally comfortable and contented.
He's also full of complete and utter crap.]When I awoke this morning, I had the strongest urge to travel to the north, perhaps to the coast, or at least to
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[A deliberated pause.] I've noticed, though, that in the case of the latter, dirt and mud have an almost remarkable ability of cleaning themselves. I'd cry witchcraft if I didn't know any better.
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I don't know how one dirties the soul. I surmise that's a matter of opinion.
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