She had not thought anything could equal her despair at that moment. There was—a service. ” “You’re lucky to live in an age when you can do so. Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell. She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. ‘What is it that you told him?’ ‘Nothing, miss, I swear. ‘He destroyed the papers?’ ‘That’s right,’ Roding said, throwing her a glance of frowning surprise, as if he had not rated her intelligence so high. They cleaned up the mess as best they could and she went home with him docilely. His fatigue was tacitly understood within the family; it was a phenomenon which everyone acknowledged as related to the trades.
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