Did I tell you about the dream where a young Rudyard Kipling went back in time to rescue Jane Austen from herself, only of course she didn't need rescuing, and somehow they ended up crashing and/or hiding out for the night in the house of a young-and-solipsistically-exuberant Winston Churchill and his calmer-and-saner wife?
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You did not! Why haven't you written it?
And the Titanic was involved somehow.
. . . of course it was.