Although Martha did not know it, she had her pistol and her daggers, and her knife. She was fatigued physically and mentally, and neither mind nor body could rest. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. 266 She peered up at him. Never had he corrected her with hand or whip, the ring in his voice had always been sufficient to cower her.
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