He was content to talk about himself, though in the back of his clever mind he already suspected that she was not offering any details about her life. It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. He threw her on the bed. Many’s the young ’un I’ve seen get hisself into just such a knuckleheaded mess all on account of a pretty wench. ‘Oh, famous. She might even forgive him. It was like pouring a strong acid over dulled metal. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. E. He must preserve it, however, as they preserved the Ark of the Covenant.
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