‘ martha. ‘ her name was like a prayer on his lips, a devotion that could sustain him through the most frostbitten winter. if she’d sent some letter, some warning of her arrival, it hadn’t arrived before she was in front of him. ‘ martha. ‘ before her name ended the second time, his arms were around her, holding as tightly as he dared. ‘ what-what are you doing here in this harsh winter? you should be back at mount vernon. ‘
@m-wash













