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A Monk of Fife by Andrew Lang
page 68 of 341 (19%)
another. Now," she said, snatching up a flat crate full of linen, "carry
these, the King's shirts, and sorely patched they are, on your head;
march straight through the kitchen, then through the guard-room, and then
by the door on the left into the long passage, and so into the court, and
begone; they will but take you for a newly come blanchisseuse. Only
speak as little as may be, for your speech may betray you." She kissed
me very kindly on both cheeks, for she was as frank a lass as ever I met,
and a merry. Then, leading me to the door of the inner room, she pushed
it open, the savoury reek of the kitchen pouring in.

"Make good speed, Margot!" she cried aloud after me, so that all could
hear; and I walked straight up the King's kitchen, full as it was of men
and boys, breaking salads, spitting fowls, basting meat (though it was
Lent, but doubtless the King had a dispensation for his health's sake),
watching pots, tasting dishes, and all in a great bustle and clamour. The
basket of linen shading my face, I felt the more emboldened, though my
legs, verily, trembled under me as I walked. Through the room I went,
none regarding me, and so into the guard-room, but truly this was another
matter. Some soldiers were dicing at a table, some drinking, some
brawling over the matter of the late tumult, but all stopped and looked
at me.

"A new face, and, by St. Andrew, a fair one!" said a voice in the accent
of my own country.

"But she has mighty big feet; belike she is a countrywoman of thine,"
quoth a French archer; and my heart sank within me as the other cast a
tankard at his head.

"Come, my lass," cried another, a Scot, with a dice-box in his hand,
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