She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. She prevaricated. Love was joy, and joyous she was when alone. She felt like a dried-up old woman. “Now listen. He was only a younger son, and you know what trouble we had. I just never had anything else fun to do. Somebody tricked you back yonder—baited you for spite.
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