the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
The lye has eaten into my cracked hands again today, but I dare not stop scrubbing. Mistress Annabel watches me from the corner of her eye, and the silence in the house is heavier than the firewood I haul. Holy Mother protect us, I only did what I had to for poor Francis.
Nota scribaeDictated very fast, with her eyes fixed firmly on the floorboards.

The floor in the corner by the flour bin is still stained. Kona would have had it spotless by Prime.