Rumour is a pipe blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures and of so easy and so plain a stop that the blunt monster with uncounted heads, the still-discordant wavering multitude, can play upon it.
Rumors. That’s what does it, you know. You can advertise and market as much as you like, but ultimately there’s only one thing that sells, the rumor mill.
How goes it now, sir? This news which is called true is so like an old tale that the verity of it is in strong suspicion.
