We took up our line of march and passed out of Cambenet at noon; and it seemed to me unaccountably strange and odd that the King of England and his chief minister, marching manacled and fettered and yoked, in a slave convoy, could move by all manner of idle men and women, and under windows where sat the sweet and the lovely, and yet never attract a curious eye, never provoke a single remark.
Dear, dear, it only shows that there is nothing diviner about a king than there is about a tramp, after all.

He is just a cheap and hollow artificiality when you don't know he is a king.

But reveal his quality, and dear me it takes your very breath away to look at him.

I reckon we are all fools.

Born so, no doubt..