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Show 121 shoulders were the mantle of a shrunken, bony frame that was scarce more than a skeleton. His once fine woolen cloak hung on his person as a rag draped on a stick. Only one word repeated in his brain with each step he took. Hannah. Hannah. Hannah. Soon he would be home. Behind the door would be Hannah. ***** Although Thomas had importuned the Bishop to release his father for a visit to his dying mother, the Bishop had given him no hope of such a release being forthcoming. Hannah continued to insist that her husband was coming and Thomas had not the heart to tell her otherwise. Everyone except Samuel was home that day. Thomas and Jane were conferring on what they could do about the family financial situation. Ever since their father had left the Anglican church, they had been reduced to subsistence levels, but now they were pushed to almost unbearable extremities. They were feeling desperate. "Samuel needs shoes," Joseph tugged on Thomas's arm, interrupting his conversation with Jane. Thomas took the small pot he was holding, removed the lid, and turned the pot upside down. Nothing came out. The message was clear. There was no money for shoes. "Ee won't ask thee for 'em, but I know his feet's hurtin." Joseph returned to his whittling. |