‘Because you are a bête, and a pig, and imbecile. How was I to know what would happen? He always said if he couldn’t get you a dowry, you could take the veil. With his foodle doo! This carpenter he had a wife, The plague and torment of his life, Who, though she did her husband scold, Loved well a woollen-draper bold. ‘Oh, peste, you make me late!’ She glared up at Roding.
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