Status Updates From BEN'S BONES

“My philosophy is simple. I do not trust what I read. I only trust my own eyes. What I believe is to think for oneself. Take nothing on trust. Do your own experiments. Act only from the results of your own senses.”

“A house is not a home unless it contains food and fire for the mind as well as the body, I like to say.”

“Horrors before our time still influence us in the present day, do they not?”

“They certainly do,” she replied.

Very timely indeed.

I am fond of saying that glass, china, and reputation are easily cracked and never well-mended.”

The affable Franklin dusted off his brown leather boots and sauntered into the foyer of the building. Polly followed close behind. Margaret shut the door behind them. The heavy weight of the door deadened the din of horseshoes on the street outside. A small semicircular window above the front door streamed in daylight.

The atmosphere is rich in this one ❤️

Would have loved to meet Ben Franklin !

"Being ignorant is not such a shame, as being unwilling to learn.”

They strolled across the square, past an empty pillory. A vegetable man with a small donkey and cart offered cauliflower, asparagus, potatoes, and turnips. Other street traders include sellers of mousetraps, muffin men, girls selling eggs, and men offering to sharpen knives for a small fee.

Really feel like I could reach out and touch the people and surroundings.

The late April sky was bright blue with no clouds in sight. Broken cartwheels and empty barrels dotted the road. Horses and carts wobbled by, kicking up fine dust from the dirt road. Peddlers hawked cheap trinkets, and farmers sold fresh vegetables on rickety wooden stalls nearby. The smell of roasting fish and fruit wafted through the air.

The three rogues sat on the ground behind a copse of trees near the cemetery gates, trying to evade detection. The unkempt graveyard had become the primary burial site for nonconformists and other radical figures unaffiliated with the Church of England or other denominations and was mostly untended.

The gruff men gnawed on stale rye bread they had pilfered in the nearby Whitechapel district of London. They reeked of stale beer and dank graveyard soil, and their tattered leather boots were stained with dried blood.