All her life Martha had been there. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. It’s wrong in the eyes of most people. Stanley considered. Haven’t I shown you over and over again that I mean you no harm? What do I have to do?’ ‘You can go away and leave me to my affairs,’ she threw at him. She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it.
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