france in disarray

, the winger of eight-eight and nine, was aching cold, it chilled the very soul, they came from the country in twos and threes, a trickle, a river, a torrent, a sea, driven by hunger, driven by pain, company.halt!. a hundred thousand reached the barricade, present. fire!. three hundred dead, shot down like rats, three hundred lives, snuffed out like that, have a care if you treat your people like vermin, you could end up with bloodstained ermine, but soft, as ever in the ebb and flow, sweet reason, deft and incorrupt, adoring of the human kind illuminates man's plight, should be embrace, the brute and base, tilt blindly at the carousel, or note, at least, the other voice, and entertain the choice, between the darkness and the light?