The lines about his mouth gradually softened. A moment afterwards, the door was closed and bolted, and the carpenter found himself alone. If Ann Veronica could have put words to that song they would have been, “Hot-blooded marriage or none!” but she was far too indistinct in this matter to frame any words at all. She slipped past the servants, her soft roe-skin shoes unheard on the old stone. She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. Bird, the turner, to give him an order this evening.
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