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Updated: May 14, 2025
She did not realise for at least another ten seconds whence came that voice, so drawly, so dear, but alas! with a strange accent of weakness and of suffering. There was no one within sight . . . except by that rock . . . Great God! . . . the Jew! . . . Was she mad or dreaming? . . .
"Odd's life! but I wish those demmed fellows had not hit quite so hard!" This time it was quite unmistakable, only one particular pair of essentially British lips could have uttered those words, in sleepy, drawly, affected tones. "Damn!" repeated those same British lips, emphatically. "Zounds! but I'm as weak as a rat!" In a moment Marguerite was on her feet. Was she dreaming?
From where I lay I could see the fingers of his left hand shut tight over his thumb, pressing till the knuckles were white and the cords in the back of his hand stood out in little ridges. I'd seen that before, and I recalled with a start when and where I'd heard that soft, drawly voice.
"I'm coming, Miss Joanna," Martha's soft drawly voice increased her bitterness; her own, compared with it, sounded harsh, empty, inexperienced. Martha's voice was full of the secrets of love the secrets of Dick Socknersh's love. "Come into the dairy," she said hoarsely. Martha came and stood before her.
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