He knew the screed was incomplete. He was its author...even before he was the man that history remembers. This was the 1780's and the heart of man had not yet been laid bare. Neither was there a language of the law, drawn in the bloody script of human nature. Nay, men were still apes before the lord, and the King's court was naught but a pack of parrots and smelly mules. He had written the screed by his own hand. His arguments were not perfect. He could fret not about the minor lacuna when his first major work was nearly finished. The sun was rising and time was short. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw he would finish. He looked into the trembling eyes of the woman who was once his lover as he clutched his plume and spoke with certainty, "Nay Woman! Be gone with you! I have unfinished business with our King in waiting. There are still "T"s to cross and "i"s to dot!"
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