For what Savine had spent on that one dress, which Liddy would help cut her out of in a few hours and she’d never wear again, she could’ve paid her workers on the canal more’n they’d asked for, and got the thing dug without one bone broken. For what her father the Arch Lector had spent on the wine today, maybe he could’ve built some better houses in Valbeck, and folk wouldn’t have been stuck in rotten cellars, and the Breakers wouldn’t have risen up, and two hundred good people wouldn’t have been hanged. For what Lord fucking Isher had spent on this dinner for seven hundred, the valley Broad
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