She forgot Anna’s sacrifices, forgot her own callousness, forgot the burden which she had fastened upon her sister’s shoulders. He was caked with dried muck. "It is Jonathan. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. ’ ‘I think you—’ He broke off abruptly, astonished at what he had been about to say. She shuddered. D'ye hear.
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