The farmer had become obsessed with her and asked her to marry. ‘Sapristi,’ he gasped. You are in danger. His clothes had evidently seen some service, and were plentifully begrimed with the dust of the workshop. Sorrows and danger and disappointment she had known. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade.
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