Thursday, January the 26th, 2006
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“As he stood there musing, the door burst open mid a great clamor and shouting, and a mob of drunken soldiers poured through the gap. They were staggering under silken robes, golden goblets helmeted their heads, precious ornaments of jade dangled from their persons. The foremost of the rioters beheld the ancient Ming priest. With joyous cries, they pounced upon him, seized him with ungentle hands. ‘O outlived reptile of accursed lineage, give us your hidden treasures, or we slit your wizened throat.’ The priest struggled feebly in his captors' grasp, crying feebly.” — Nat Schachner & Arthur L Zagat, The Song Of The Cakes