the Monday after St John before the Latin Gate, at Vespers
Wandering the woods picking mushrooms to sell. Tuma the clerk caught me after mass. If I do not pay the arrears for my mother's memorial by the feast of Saints Peter and Paul, he will name me from the pulpit. Sakra. My back is killing me.
Nota scribaeHe glared at the church tower the entire time he spoke.

I will share what I have, John, if the dice favor me in Kuttenberg tomorrow.
Keep your coin, fool, or you will lose your breeches too.