She began to miss him when he was gone during the day and cherish the quiet times he spent only with her. She twanged the catgut under her fingers. “I’ve gotta go. You will not have to wait long for the information. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. “Our interest lies in heading them off. Wild will hang me. ” He stood up with his legs parted in an inverted “V”, puffing up, trying to make himself look bigger. “We won’t. Send you the shirt. "And now, widow," he continued, "attend to the next verse, for it consarns a friend o' yours.
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