‘Who telled you that?’ ‘Do not ask me impertinent questions, but only go you and fetch this daughter here to me. The idiots are marching through the streets in processions from town to town, whipping their own backs until they are covered in blood, spreading the bloody Pestilence wherever they go! The dead pile in the streets like timber. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love.
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