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Notes on the Margin

Exculpatory Evidence

Exculpatory Evidence

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I would like to state for the record that Vin's laugh is more of a whoop, which makes him sound approximately like an attacking velociraptor when he's amused.

Now, back to my paper.  I'm writing on Elizabeth I, Cecil, and intervention in Scotland in 1559.  Unfortunately, my love for this course is being tempered by a horrible requirement that I do more than read and toss about interpretations for three hours a week: they want me to write something.

This only becomes a problem when seven students scramble for the same sources on eighteen months' of history.  I was at Senate House, the University of London library, bumping my head in the staircases and trying to survive the overheated, claustraphobic sixth floor when I ran into two of my classmates, the pair who earlier insisted on showing me tea in the true British way: milk first.

While I murmured curses (in Spanish, so it doesn't count) that all three of us would be hunting the same works of two nigh-unattainable authors, I was relieved to discover that the third years were even more irresponsible than I.  They had dissertation drafts due on Friday, and weren't going to start finding sources until next week, scant days before the paper was due.  It brought a tear to my sympathetic eye to learn how languid their pace was.  I love these guys.
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