I'm going to swim into it and pretend that the temperature is somewhere between piss and stale tea warm, and then I'll add in some milk and sugar and hope to sell off the lather as a specialty drink, all the while obliquely referring to authentic and pure ingredients, hard labor, and homespun cotton. Then, if all goes well, I'll net proceeds sufficient to cover initial costs and propel me back home, where I can relinquish my earnings to the feudal lord and he might, in turn, find enough patience to house me for another night.
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