She fed grain in at a fixed-point, the Mill-Stone's hub. From its circumference sifted flour for baking. Pale dust choked the air. Machinery crashed. No voice could be heard in that racket. By hand signs the children were made to know they must work for their supper.
Bad Lord Judas decrees: Humans get bread by noise and thunder, from sweat and soil. It’s the grace of Good Lord Jesus that allots us a bit of butter.