There were voices coming from the d

There were voices coming from the drawing room as he laid the dining table;the family was seated there,with the newcomer,that soft young Mr. Collins.James watched the press of clean fingertips onto a wineglass stem,the pattern of the skin’s ridges and the gleam of the crystal.He had thought once that his hands would never come clean again.And yet,and yet,was he not more of an animal now than he had ever been back then?Content now to trudge and pull and carry and to serve,serene in the expectation that at the end of it all there would be a full belly and a safe warm place to sleep.