’ *** Everett, General Lord Charvill, master of a barony stretching over a wide estate that encroached on the hundreds of Witham, Thurstable and Dengy, stood before his own fireplace, glaring at his visitors from under bushy white brows from a head held necessarily low above a back painfully bent by rheumatism. She tried to appear as if she had never been questioned before. She caught her finger in the lock and had to ask him to help pry it out. And the fences are down for good. Something namelessly abhorrent in the eyes of those men…! She knew what arms were for—to fold and embrace and to hold one tightly; but why men wished to kiss women was still a profound mystery. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple. After that night she made it a habit.
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