There was a tearing sound and the cloth of her habit ripped apart as the smothered point drove through it, missing its intended target. “Delicious!” she murmured. She wanted to think. The darkness prevented the carpenter from discerning the features or figure of the stranger; and the ceaseless din precluded the possibility of holding any communication by words with him. ‘Monsieur, my wife intended not to anger you,’ he said in a tone of apology. I haven’t, anyhow.
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