Her great creel forehead-slung, she wanders nigh, Easing the heavy strap with gnarled, brown fingers

to load wine

The pious politician knows that, gods willing, one can do anything to man.

And at the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it. Dringdring! And two streets off another locking it into a pyx. Dringadring! And in a ladychapel another taking housel all to his own cheek. Dringdring!