The first circumstance that struck her on her arrival seemed ominous. The idiots are marching through the streets in processions from town to town, whipping their own backs until they are covered in blood, spreading the bloody Pestilence wherever they go! The dead pile in the streets like timber. "What's this here kinchen in for?" asked Terence, as he and Quilt strode along, with Thames between them. At any rate, here I am, and here I shall be, twenty thousand feet above all your poison-reeking cities, up where God’s wind comes fresh from heaven, very near indeed to the untrodden snows.
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