She infused menace into her voice. “Let’s go in here. Wood's. I did not know what I was saying. If ever he requires my services, he shall find I'm not ungrateful. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. The winters were terrible in cold climates, and she often had been driven to dig herself large underground pits where she waited it out like a mole in the cold months. But I never found any truth in the saying. I'll be at the Cross Shovels in the course of the day. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. For my part, I think those shackles extremely becoming.
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