Mary Anne with her face to the window, held her arm up.
“Well, Mary Anne?”
“Mr Headstone coming home, ma’am.”
In about a minute, Mary Anne again hailed.
“Yes, Mary Anne?”
“Gone in and locked his door, ma’am.”
Miss Peecher repressed a sigh as she gathered her work together for bed, and transfixed that part of her dress where her heart would have been if she had had the dress on, with a sharp, sharp needle.