Under this unnerving scrutiny, a slow flush mounted to the woman’s cheeks. “Who killed her husband?” “Go and nurse him, missus!” “Murderess!” Anna looked from left to right. At the thought of the major, her tears redoubled and she was obliged to rip off a piece from the remnants of her already maltreated underpetticoats with which to blow her nose and soak the damp from her cheeks. Anna was suddenly very quiet. As she approached, the carpenter's wife eyed her from head to foot, in the hope of finding something in her person or apparel to quarrel with. Sir John, by instinct and training, was an unimaginative person.
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