![]() ![]() By the time I arrived in Minnesota, I had brought inspiration and grace to so many lives that I had but three bottles remaining. It had proved remarkably powerful as an aid to women and men suffering the effects of forlorn-ness, and it was nothing less than a command from God Himself that sent me across the country with my humble wares. My travels began at the railroad station in Ashland, New Hampshire, where I boarded with three valises filled not with clothes or accoutrements, but with bottles of Saint Matthew’s Passionate Liqueur and Tonic, a restorative of my own devising. I had only recently arrived in the city of Northfield that morning of September the seventh, having come originally from New Hampshire on a journey of salesmanship. Though I am not a man of letters, and so must trust the reader to forgive any infelicities of prose, I assure you that the story I intend to relate is singular enough to carry its own burdens. No-one has yet presented as full an account as I can offer. Many stories have recently come over the telegraph wires about the events in Northfield, Minnesota this September past, but I assure you none are as verifiable as mine, which is a story told from true experience and the witness of mine own eyes.
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