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Told her we were going to the tavern for dinner. 'Thee shall go to no tavern on the seventh day, and slipping her arm into my wife's, led us to her house. Pointing to a door she told me to go in and I would see what I never saw in Scotland, and led my wife upstairs. Opening the door I found myself in a backshed, with Bambray rubbing ointment on a negro's arm.
"You old Lumignon," said Stidmann, "you remind me of the publisher before the Revolution who said 'If only I could keep Montesquieu, Voltaire, and Rousseau very poor in my backshed, and lock up their breeches in a cupboard, what a lot of nice little books they would write to make my fortune. If works of art could be hammered out like nails, workmen would make them.
"You old Lumignon," said Stidmann, "you remind me of the publisher before the Revolution who said 'If only I could keep Montesquieu, Voltaire, and Rousseau very poor in my backshed, and lock up their breeches in a cupboard, what a lot of nice little books they would write to make my fortune. If works of art could be hammered out like nails, workmen would make them.
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