In several places, I asked women whether they would sell me their children, but they denied me all, but said they would give me one to keep for them, if I would.
Seriously, if you’re not reading Samuel Pepy’s diary, you’re missing out. The past week’s entries have been wonderfully puzzling and (ahem) evocative.
Eventually, of course, he’ll get to the plague years. But for now, it seems to be a very merry life.