Script quote tattoo on ribs

You asked in your last letter whether I had finally sold Father's workbench, and I have not, though the buyer from Leeds has been round twice now with his hat in his hands and his eyes on the dovetails. I told him the bench is not for sale. He said everything is for sale, which is the kind of thing men from Leeds say. I am writing because I want you to hear it from me: I sat with the bench for a whole evening last Tuesday, a tin of tea going cold beside me, and I did not cry once. I thought I would.

Mrs Oakes from the chapel came by with a jar of plum jam and asked after my nerves. I told her I had none left, that I had spent them all in the winter, and she laughed at me the way she laughs at hymns she sings too slow. Father used to say that when your heart releases, you won't fall to pieces, and I thought he meant grief. I think now he meant the mainspring, that a watch only runs if you let it unwind a little at a time, and that holding it tight just snaps the thing.

So I did what he would have done. I took the brass escapement out of the carriage clock, cleaned it in paraffin, and set it back on the bench. It ticks now. It is not quite true, it gains two minutes a day, but it ticks.

Come at Easter if you can. Bring the boys. I will show you the bench and you can tell me whether the buyer was right.

Your loving sister, Maud