I’m that shamed to confess it, miss, but it were then I thought of Martha. She sat very still, and his eyes rested on that ornament for a moment, and then travelled slowly to her wrist and the soft lines of her forearm. Her husband was prouder of her every day. He talked very little and rather absently. At last the panel swung back into the library. Their conversation became stilted. Sheila pounded the kitchen table, causing the bell jar with the silk flowers to tip over and roll to the floor.
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