The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. ’ For a moment or two there was dead silence in the parlour. She heard the bamboo curtain rattle slightly. He rolled on top of her, pinning her with his arms and forming a tented cage. But I am not worthy to be any man's wife —far less his wife. " "Ah, yes. That is I saw her. I want to get away. . “I can’t believe it. .
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