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- Джон Бакен
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She
made
a
mouth
.
"
I
do
not
think
I
follow
them
.
You
are
learned
theologians
,
you
of
Scotland
,
and
I
am
still
at
the
horn
-
book
.
But
some
day
I
will
come
to
hear
you
,
for
your
sermons
I
think
I
might
understand
.
"
"
I
could
not
preach
to
you
,
"
he
said
.
"
And
wherefore
,
sir
?
Are
your
discourses
only
for
wrinkled
carls
and
old
rudas
wives
?
Is
there
no
place
in
your
kirk
for
a
girl
?
"
"
You
are
not
of
our
people
.
The
seed
can
be
sown
only
in
a
field
prepared
.
"
"
But
that
is
heresy
.
Are
not
all
souls
alike
?
"
"
True
.
But
the
voice
of
the
preacher
is
heard
only
by
open
ears
.
I
think
you
are
too
happy
in
your
youth
,
mistress
,
for
my
solemnities
.
"
"
You
do
me
injustice
,
"
she
said
,
and
her
face
was
grave
.
"
I
am
young
,
and
I
think
I
have
a
cheerful
heart
,
for
I
can
exult
in
a
spring
morning
,
and
I
cannot
be
very
long
sad
.
But
I
have
had
sorrows
-
-
a
father
slain
in
the
wars
,
a
mother
dead
of
grieving
,
a
bundling
about
among
kinsfolk
who
were
not
all
gracious
.
I
have
often
had
sore
need
of
comfort
,
sir
.
"
"
You
have
found
it
-
-
where
?
"
"
In
the
resolve
never
to
be
a
faintheart
.
That
is
my
creed
,
though
I
fail
often
in
the
practice
.
"