Status Updates From As Chimney Sweepers Come to...

Aha! That’s what the pitcher is called: a ewer

^I would never have thought it possible, but I missed my sister. She had been the lemon on my fish, the vinegar on my chips, I realized with a sudden pang, and that without her, life from now on was going to be less tasty.^

^”Banished!” they howled. “Banished!”

There is no sadder word in the English language. The very sound of it—like echoing iron gates crashing closed behind you; like steel bolts being shot shut—makes your hair stand up on end, doesn’t it?^

^Fear no more the heat o’ the sun,
Nor the furious winter’s rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages:
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney sweepers, come to dust.
—William Shakespeare,
Cymbeline (IV.ii)^