With a finger crooked in his side-pocket, she measured her step with his, her senses still dizzy from the echo of the magic sounds. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. ’ A strangled sob escaped her as his thumb dug cruelly into the soft flesh of her wrist. “Who killed her husband?” “Go and nurse him, missus!” “Murderess!” Anna looked from left to right.
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