“In the last few minutes a wind had arisen, blustering across the house-tops from the river Frome, moaning between the houses and rattling all their shutters like the teeth in an old man's head. My mother-in-law, standing beside me, reached across and pulled the woollen shawl closer about my sleeping daughter who weighed so uncomfortably against my shoulder. Elizabeth, now two months past her first birthday, as well as inheriting my fair hair and blue eyes also promised to have my height and bui...ld, and she was a heavy child for her age. I shifted her sleeping form as gently as I could from my right arm to my left, but even that, like the powerful voice of the friar who preached from the High Cross, failed to awaken her. But it disturbed several other members of the tightly packed congregation, who turned frowning faces towards me and bade me be still. The reputation of the Dominican friar, Father Simeon, had preceded his appearance in Bristol by many months. It had already been one of the main topics of the marketplace when I returned to Margaret Walker's home, amongst the weavers and spinners of the city, the previous September.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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