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THREE:"My lord judge, I demand, in the name of holy church, and in the name of the gracious king Edward, that you deliver up this woman, Edith Holgrave, to me. A writ from the chancery, signed by the royal hand, commanding her delivery to the ecclesiastical power, has been sent down, and how is it that thus, in opposition to the church's prerogative, and the royal will, I see the woman standing a criminal at this bar?"

THREE:She stood hesitating on the doorstep. Should she knock? Then a terrible thought struck her. Reuben must have meant to lock her out. Otherwise he would have sat up for her, however late she had been. She started trembling all over, and felt her skin grow damp."Aye, my son, there has been timidity enough in those prelates, who tamely acquiesced in the late enactment against the clergy; and, alas! how often since have the servants of God been dragged from the altar and imprisoned like felons, merely to gratify the haughty barons in their desire to humble our holy religion! The king, too, is a masked enemy, and countenances the impious attempts to abridge our rights."

THREE:"Have��have you been here long?" stammered David, feeling he must say something.

THREE:The Moor was on the eastern edge of the parish, five miles from Rye. Heaving suddenly swart out of the green water-meadows by Socknersh, it piled itself towards the sunrise, dipping to Leasan House. It was hummocked and tussocked with coarse grass��here and there a spread of heather, growing, like all southern heather, almost arboreally. In places the naked soil gaped in sores made by coney-warrens or uprooted bushes. Stones and roots, sharn, shards, and lumps of marl, mixed themselves into the wealden clay, which oozed in red streaks of potential fruitfulness through their sterility."I am angry with you just because I pity you. It's a shame that I should have to pity you��you're such a splendid man. It ought to be impossible to pity you, but I do��I pity you from my soul. Think what you're missing. Think what your children might have been to you. How you might have loved that dear stupid Robert��how proud you might have been of Albert, and of Richard leaving you for a professional career ... and poor little George, just because he was weak and unlike the rest, he might have been more to you than them all. Then there's your brother Harry����"