’ ‘Merci,’ she sighed and, surrendering at last to his oft-proffered aid, allowed her head to droop onto his chest. ’ Martha looked up, belligerence in her tone. I am totally like this on my own. ‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. He was sitting back from the table now, with one arm over the back of his green chair and the other resting on the little table. The thing rankled in her mind night and day. He took a sip of punch and commenced his relation. ‘How so?’ he asked, and she noted that he allowed his pistol to dangle a little from his fingers. Her husband had caught her leaning over a precipice into the ruins of the oubliette, and had punished her by flogging her back with a switch.
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