‘Very well, never mind. ’” She played “If I Were a Rich Man,” adding syrupy trills and flourishes at every phrase. Although Martha did not know it, she had her pistol and her daggers, and her knife. “Bother it all!” she swore. She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. It would put the whole adventure on a broader and better footing; it seemed, indeed, almost the only possible way in which she might emerge from her rebellion with anything like success.
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