She barely heard a word that Martin or Brown said, until Martin’s voice chimed. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. Gosse must now fight with his back to the altar, and a dais at his heels. ‘I think it is better if I hold the pistol. "I don't think he would," acquiesced the carpenter. " "Why not?" "I am a thief, a hunted man. ” She gave herself permission now to look at this squarely. It was a great weight from her shoulders to confide in another human being, and she suspected he did truly believe her.
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