Yet in those times death came quickly, leaping like the lightning from unexpected clouds or even out of a clear sky, and who could say?
Besides, he believed her gone, and that being so would be careless of himself, or perchance, worst thought of all, would take some other wife, as was but right and natural.

Oh! then indeed---- At this moment a sound of altercation woke her to the world again, and she looked up to see that Thomas Bolle was bringing trouble on them.
A coarse fat lout with a fiery and a knotted nose, being somewhat in liquor, had amused himself by making mock of his country looks and red hair, and asking whether they used him for a scarecrow in his native fields.
Thomas bore it for a while, only answering with another question: whether he, the fat fellow, hired out his nose to London housewives to light their fires.

The man, feeling that the laugh was against him, and noticing the child in Cicely's arms pointed it out to his friends, inquiring whether they did not think it was exactly like its dad.

Then Thomas's rage burnt up, although the jest was silly and aimless enough.
"You low, London gutter-hound!" he exclaimed; "I'll learn you to insult the Lady Harflete with your ribald japes," and stretching out his big fist he seized his enemy's purple nose in a grip of iron and began to twist it till the sot roared with pain.

Thereon guards ran up and would have arrested Bolle for breaking the peace in the King's palace.