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Show Page 167 "And the babe, too, was a beggar's brat," Twig continued. "One more or less made no matter to 'em." "But here, in Virginia, where each person is known and therefore strives for respectability, her unpunished sin would not be so tolerated," said Harwood in his moist, squeaky voice. "She had to keep her past a secret." "And how came you by the beating?" Richard asked then. "When first little Sarah died, then Francis sickened, I thought Rose was to blame, but I was afeard to tell anyone. I left early this morning, thinking to run away. Then Rose would have naught to fear from me and would make Francis well. But I did not want to go. I-I-like it-here. So at last I went to 'er and warned 'er that if Francis died too, I'd tell what I know. She said she'd done nothing 'gainst the babes and became sore angry. She beat me." The door was pushed open and Margaret entered. Twig sucked in his breath. "Francis is dead!" he cried. "Nay," Margaret said. "The fever has broke. Methinks he will get well." "Then Rose made him get better," Twig announced knowingly "She was afeard if he died, I'd tell." "Whatever is all this nonsense? And whatever is going on here?" asked Margaret, noting for the first time Twig's battered face. |