Oh, how true! And I am just going to make best mate's day by revealing that her esteemed ancestor had a drunken encounter with a lady of the night and when her protector returned was chased from the room and in the confusion fell downstairs, to his death.
I have five generations of James Broomfields all married to Mary, Sarah or Betty. They all have sons called James, George and William. There is nothing to distinguish one from another, when I know they must have different characters, different lives, but they are just a row of inanimate puppets.
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The chestnuts cast their flambeaux
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