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We're moving the church's grain to york.
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Politics out of london, I hear.
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This is our grain. It belongs in this soil.
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Lady marion, I but follow the orders of my superiors
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And abide by their saying and rule.
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Does his holiness know about your wealth of honey?
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There are wolves in york, sir robert. Voracious wolves.
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The bees are my family.
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I'm a procreator by design.
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I'm not a churchy friar. Never was.
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My bees give life.
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They are my life, sir robert.