November 1634

 

"Thus saith the Lord . . ."

"Stop." Andrea Abati closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Dietrich Fischer was still looking at him with that same placid but confused expression he'd been wearing all evening. Andrea scrubbed his hands over his face, then took a deep breath.

"Dietrich, you are not singing a ballad to a girl you want to romance." Dietrich nodded, just as he had in every conversation they'd already had this evening. "You are the prophet of God here. You are the voice of Haggai. You need to sound like that prophet, not . . .

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- The Grantville Gazette Staff