“Is nothing sacred anymore?” Sara asked.
“"Course they"d print it,” Daphine said. She hung a new painting on the shop wall and then repositioned the lighting. “People knew that cat"s neck would be wrung.”
Sara couldn"t remember ever having the habit of buying newspapers. Now it seemed she scanned them daily. One article reported that a farmer named Fletcher Grable wore size sixteen boots. “How did they find that out?”
“Probably from other farmers who"d like to see him lose his land.”
“They wouldn"t do that, would they? Doesn"t he own large patches out on Ryer Island?”
“Patches, yes, here and there from the Howard Landing Ferry back to Miner Slough.”
“And the bigger landowners want to buy off his small fields?”
“Yeah, and because of that, he"s sometimes offensive, but he"s never hurt
