The wild boar, when cornered, will turn and charge the hunter. If the sovereignty you desire is incompatible with their freedom, where will they go? They would throw your sovereignty back in your face!
—Edmond Burke
In Fleet Street, right next door to the "British" editorial office, there was such an airtight little compartment.
The room had no windows or fireplace for heating. An old desk was merely furnished with a dim kerosene lamp for lighting.
If it were a guest's first visit, they might think this place was a storeroom for unwanted items.
From the looks of it, that did indeed seem to be the case.
Old books were piled everywhere, a corner was occupied by a used piano from unknown origins, and on top of the piano rested a violin from Wheatstone Musical Instrument Shop.
And along the yellowing, peeling walls were rows of dusty iron cabinets.
Brass padlocks dangled on each cabinet, as if the contents were some shameful secrets.
