They couldn't
abide cruel Canterbury Bells ringin' to Bulverhithe for
more pore men an' women to be burnded, nor the King's
proud messenger ridin' through the land givin' orders to
tear down the Images. They couldn't abide it no shape.
Nor yet they couldn't get their boat an' crew to flit by
without Leave an' Good-will from Flesh an' Blood; an'
Flesh an' Blood came an' went about its own business the
while the Marsh was swarvin' up, an' swarvin' up with
Pharisees from all England over, strivin' all means to get
through at Flesh an' Blood to tell 'em their sore need ... I
don't know as you've ever heard say Pharisees are like chickens?'
'My woman used to say that too,'said Hobden, folding
his brown arms.
'They be. You run too many chickens together, an' the
ground sickens, like, an' you get a squat, an' your chickens
die. Same way, you crowd Pharisees all in one place -
they don't die, but Flesh an' Blood walkin' among 'em is
apt to sick up an' pine off. They don't mean it, an' Flesh
an' Blood don't know it, but that's the truth - as I've
heard. The Pharisees through bein' all stenched up an'
frighted, an' trying' to come through with their
supplications, they nature-ally changed the thin airs an'
humours in Flesh an' Blood.
Pages:
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253