Took, a pen, paper, a minute, notes aplenty, my leave to a quiet place. Whereinto stone I set my idea, into motion the wheels, and for that, up a friend, then by — the ill-gotten proceeds.
Sail for the Caymen Islands. But surely — for my scheming — myself for life?
Only, for such a deed a dastardly, did things go awry: restless was the sea, the wind, my conscience, and, for that, my stomach. When at last came to pass the storm, unfortunately too the port, the days, the point of no return, and me truly …