"We flew over to England by the same route Churchill took. It was easy. All we had to do was follow the cigar ashes."

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My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel wounding thorns;Love is the fire and sighs the smoke, the ashes shame and scorns;The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy blows the coals;The metal in this furnace wrought are men's defiled souls.

— Robert Southwell