She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. This man was her husband in the eyes of both God and man. “It is a great art,” she said in broken English. ‘Martha was my wet-nurse? But she is unmarried. Before the congregation separated, the clergyman descended from the pulpit; and, followed by the coffin-bearers and mourners, and by Jack at a respectful distance, entered the churchyard. She knew his appetite from many a homemade dinner and knew also that he had taken Bitch Vorsack’s comments to heart.
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