Something in her lack of embarrassment irritated him. She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. Who but you would have dreamed of giving the boy such a name? Why, it's the name of a river, not a Christian. Wood the best of wives. Her dainty shoes were soiled with dust and there was a great tear in her skirt. A chain, riveted to an iron belt encircling her waist, bound her to the wall.
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