She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. She had slapped him away with her free hand and the finger was released suddenly, sending her careening to the floor. She thought of an old abandoned barn that she could inhabit further downriver, but shrugged off the idea in disdain.
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