She recognized him as the man who had blundered into the wrong room. She kissed him on the bridge of his nose. Amid a litter of nails without heads, screws without worms, and locks without wards, lay a glue-pot and an oilstone, two articles which their owner was wont to term "his right hand and his left. The tears were streaming down her face, her voice was thick with sobs. Lucy heard a stir, but if Dawn Plote were to arise and come into the room, it could only mean two murders tonight. Then pain entered their depths. ‘Ain’t no call for you to go a-blaming of yourself. Her husband had caught her leaning over a precipice into the ruins of the oubliette, and had punished her by flogging her back with a switch. All the initial confidence in herself was gone; her courage was merely a shell to hide the lack. ‘Until today.
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