He’d borne mention of the woman’s name. She started at the falling of a leaf, at the lumbering of a cow through the hedge. You speak as one injured—as though I had been the one to take your name—as though you had been the one to make sacrifices. Even as she watched, the sweat of weakness began to form on his forehead and under the nether lip. But don’t run away with the idea that I’m hanging out for a wife at last, because I’m not.
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