She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. She heard him come in; the light burned on. She wanted to stay where she was; but tears were dangerous; the more she wept, the weaker she would become defensively. She wasn’t well-liked really, I think people were jealous of her. "Your father said so before you," replied Jonathan, malignantly; "and yet it has tarried thus long.
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