That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. "My name will only be remembered as that of a robber," he mused; "but it shall be remembered as that of a bold one: and this night's achievement, if it does nothing else, shall prevent me from being classed with the common herd of depredators. She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it.
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