The Book of Enitharmon

To punish me for the unforgivable sin of running out of biscuits late last night, Tosca sent me out in the bitter wind to get her a new bag of biscuits. Tosca won't eat just any old biscuits of course. They have to be Waitrose biscuits, and that means a trip across the Thames.

While I was there I found some poor lonely waifs that nobody wanted, so that Waitrose had cut their price to try to get rid of them.

How cruel can people be? I couldn't not liberate some of them could I?