the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
My hands are nothing but white scars and calluses now. The blades slipped again today on a thick knot. I would give a week's wage for a decent bed in town, away from the shouting in the loft, but the groschen must be saved.
Nota scribaeHe stared at the floor the entire time he spoke.

Master Stislav would have shown you how to hold the shears so they do not slip.