Standing drunk in the yard, while the rain soaked his hair and spread cold through the cloth of his doublet, Jerott thought of the fine design, firmly executed, of the campaign of Guînes and of Calais. And of his own joy and his liberation, after these huckstering years, to be again under the hand of this man, his arts at their meridian.

...and led me to finally recognise that I was but an automaton devoid of free will in thought and action and merely responsible to the forces of the environment.

Written By Terry Jones

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