of becoming a princess in some faraway and fairy tale British shire of bygone times.  Nowadays it seemed she was but a pauper living out a penniless dream in a mansion she could neither afford to keep up nor oversee. 

She looked out her front window once more upon her unkempt lawn and spat, “Damn all men and your bloody fucking wars!  Look what you’ve done to our lives!  Look what you’ve done to MY life!” 

And, as if right on cue to playfully pluck Elizabeth’s last nerve of sanity, Maid Molly shouted downstairs, “Mum, could you ‘urry up with the sheets?  Me Wilf is ready to lie back down ‘e is!” 

“Yes, Madame Molly!” Elizabeth yell...

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