I will confide it to Father Spencer, who will acquaint you with it when I am no more. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. Jonathan had not deceived him. When you don’t have any fingers left, I take a toe. He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. The action steadied him; and there was a phase of irony, too, that helped.
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