“I will not have this slavery,” she said. Still, his robust frame enabled him to hold out. 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. It was at his side below the breast, hidden by the dark colour of his close-fitting jacket. "It was that song that put it into my head to cut my name on the beam.
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