Annabel had spoken calmly enough and steadily, but his brain refused at first to accept the full meaning of her words. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. If Martha knew all, she would certainly die of shock. ‘Don’t, miss,’ uttered the boy. She twanged the catgut under her fingers. They were sounding more and more like Civic every day.
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