“What are your objections?” she said. ’ ‘Pah! Am I a fool? Have you not this moment past said how he did not?’ Agitation sent her to her feet. It was 1582. The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. Usually his charges bored him with their interrogative chatter, for he knew that his information more often than not went into one ear and out of the other. But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. . She was reasonably certain why.
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