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They bring back so many memories. The fire my mother kept in the hearth at home and all the things my London home meant to me. My brothers and sister, sometimes I miss the comfort of such simple things.
The fires in Smithfield, when heretics were burned at the stake, just down the street from my home on Cow Lane. I may never get the stench, or the sounds, out of my mind… I was only a small boy…
The hearth fire of my first home in Salem, safe with my dear wife Mary, in this New England. And then being cast out from there into a cruel New England winter, with fierce winds and numbing cold…. all for telling the magistrates in Boston that no man should be required to worship or maintain a worship against his will.