Sentence the twohundredandthirtyeighth
 
He may have been considered a paragon among the city's bibliotaphs, for his vast collection of the works of Nostrodamus and even The Predictions of True Thomas, one learned in the Gramarye, a Black Belt in Necromancy, and something of a Soothsayer in his spare time, but, so engrossed was he in his study of the Crow's Feathers he had found at the foot of the old tenement, that he failed to hear the cry of “Gardyloo” from high above and, as a consequence, was drenched by the contents of the
 
night's Piss Pot, and so Sir Parlane MacFarlane, with a loud curse and shake of his fist in the general direction of the pourer, up-the-way – who was already back a-bed with his Doxy, and heard none of it – scurried back home to his House, which stood many yards above the oubliette where Sister Evadne Eglantyne sat in chains and ordure, to change his soiled silks and satins for a long, brown, hooded robe which rather gave him the appearance of a Franciscan Friar – oh! the irony! and smirked smugly at his own treachery as he ordered his Man, Dominic Doubleday, to evict the entire tenantry from that stair unless the one who had polluted his person, should own up – or be named by one of his neighbours!