‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. “And to think that it’s not a full year ago since I was a black-hearted rebel school-girl, distressed, puzzled, perplexed, not understanding that this great force of love was bursting its way through me! All those nameless discontents—they were no more than love’s birth-pangs. Joan told me it was hung somewhere in the house, only I couldn’t remember where after all this time. Grace, confidence, the power of movement even, seemed gone from her.
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