“Loving your work
“Loving your workdoes not make it anything less than work.”
does not make it anything less than work.”Their raw fingers ached, splotched with color, color that would not wash away no matter how hard they washed, no matter how roughly they scrubbed.
Bowed backs, strained necks, throbbing eyes—it was the truth of them all.
The consequences of their undertaking grew and grew. Viviana had expected derision from the community; they received condemnation. She knew they would need to work hard; she never expected it to take such a toll upon their bodies.
As the women around her stretched and moaned, unfurling hunched backs, stretching cramped fingers, Viviana felt their pain as well as hers, for in her eyes she had brought it upon them.
Or had she?
It was Isabetta who ins
