Printing was man’s work. Each sheet was impressed separately, but with clever typesetting and layout a sheet could carry eight pages of text. Master...Heathcoate passed the printed sheets to be cut and sewn into signatures for binding by a worker in fine leathers at the bindery in the next street.“Yes, Master Heathcoate,” said Amélie.“I do, too, sir,” added Sandrine.“Know your letters, do you? That’s what your father told me. Is that true?”The two women nodded.“You as well, Sandrine?” Heathcoate. “It’s much more fun to make a poser with an inflated ego crack, dad,” Grace said.“Well, be careful. Like I said, don’t under-estimate him and get your butt turned to hamburger or get yourself killed,” I said.Anne was next to bring a man to our table. He wanted to lease Anne for a year. If she proved to be an acceptable sub, he would offer her a collar and a marriage contract. The man was about sixty. He had a full head of silver hair. He was in great physical shape, and I was pretty sure he was. More

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