Michelle was in sight, Lucy could hear her voice, high in the crowd, and saw her blond head bobbing among a sea of faces. It was impulsive and natural. The girl wished that she had come afoot, despite the knowledge that she would have suffered many inconveniences, accidental and intentional jostling, insolence and ribald jest. His new wife’s face was sweet and angelic with hair the color of flax, her belly already visibly large beneath a roe skin pelt. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. You can scribble if you want to, but after you've given your eight hours daily to the mills.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQzLjIwNS4xMzcgLSAyMi0wNy0yMDI0IDEyOjI4OjI0IC0gMTQ2NzcxODkwMA==
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