Why, I wonder, does God allow such filthy things to live?
Cannot she ply her hell-trade less grossly?
Oh! Clement Maldonado, how low are you sunk that you must use tools like these, and on such a business.

And yet there is no other way.

Not for myself, but for the Church, O Lord! The great plot thickens, and all men clamour to me, its head and spring, for money.

Give me money, and within six months Yorkshire and the North will be up, and without a year Henry the Anti-Christ will be dead and the Princess Mary fast upon the throne, with the Emperor and the Pope for watchdogs.

That stiff-necked Cicely must die and her babe must die, and then I'll twist the secret of the jewels out of the witch, Emlyn--on the rack, if need be.