The following testimonies were recorded from Oxford residents prior to the restoration of their emotions by Martin the Devout.

“I thought it were great at first. No more sadness, no more doubt, no more wallowin’ in self pity. But then me ol’ ma caught the pox, an’ you know what I felt? Nothin’. Not at first, anyways. But as I watched her waste away, I realised, I didn’t really care. I wasn’t sad. I couldn’t be! And then she died. And you know what I felt then? Guilty an’ angry. Me ol’ ma was gone, an’ I didn’t feel a thing! And I thought, what if I did? What if I ‘ad been sad? Maybe I could of done somethin’. Maybe me ol’ ma would of still been here if only I’d felt somethin’ enough to do a thing about it.”

- June, farmhand, 17

“I don’t know why I did it. I needed the money, I suppose. And she just - I don’t know, just the things she said, made it sound so easy, so reasonable. So I did. I gave her my happiness. And then she said, well, if you’ve already come this far, I’ll pay double for the next one. And so I wound up giving her all my strongest emotions; she left the weak ones. How does it feel? Meh. Okay, I guess.”

- Harry, thatcher, 29

“What’s that yer askin’? Life wi’out anger? It’s great, I say! Y’know, I always had a problem wi’ anger. Always got the best o’ me. Angry Alice, they called me. More’n a few times I regretted what I done - punched a bloke in the tavern, or taken it out on me best smithin’ tools. But now? I’m calm as can be, and all the better fer it. Now some bloke calls me stupid - no ‘arm, I say an’ carry on drinkin’. Roger come and take me tools wi’out askin’ - bit o’ a nuisance, aye, but what can y’ do, eh? Larry slept wi’ me wife - well I can ‘ardly blame ‘im, can I? Prettiest woman in the ‘ole village, she is.”

- “Angry” Alice Smith, blacksmith, 34

“Oh it was awful, simply awful! I was out in the woods when I saw this thing, this terrifying beast devouring a poor fae. I stopped dead, but she must have heard me - I say she, because when she turned around there was no mistaking that face. It was Elizabeth, from the emotion shop down the road! And she finishes off that fae, and looks at me, then turns back to her usual self - though no less of a monster, really, mark my words - and she says, “You look scared. Want me to do something about that for you?” And so I ran. I dropped my axe and I ran.”

- Terry, woodcutter, 23