Again she took a deep breath and stepped out, barefoot, onto the ground. The ropes were soft, not like the heavy hand-woven ropes in Karl’s barn. The noise of the nearby insects suddenly stopped. Instead she walked silently back to the table and placed the small bag next to her plate. In either case, she now tried to forget each man as soon as they had cried to the sky and walked away. Karl sat by the fire and busied himself with his knife, carefully fitting a new handle into a mattock he would need to break up the stubborn soil of his field. A mile past his hut, Karl once again scanned the fields and found them empty. Her loose bloomers soon followed, folded carefully. And then she felt hands on her breasts. After he had dried her with their best towel, he once again picked her up and carried her to their bed. Read 25182 times |
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