Mrs. “Believe what, Michelle?” Lucy asked. When things are at the worst, they'll mend. Not with the unavoidable explanations, and the need to secrete the sword and hide it before returning the priest’s horse to its stable—which had been her excuse for running from Martha’s protestations. His interest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, his glance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back to Ruth. She smiled and started for the stairs without reply.
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