She turned the television off. Aliva's husband, who passed by the name of Darrell, confronted them sword in hand. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. NOW it’s just as though you had grown up suddenly. Besides, the sun had gone in and it looked like rain. At any rate, it would be good to hear him saying the sort of things he did—perhaps now she would grasp them better—with this world-shaking secret brandishing itself about inside her head within a yard of him. Promise me. The primitive superstition of his Puritan forbears was his; and before this the buckler of his education disintegrated. The light would betray us. She paused. “Won’t you have some more tea, Mr. ’ ‘Sir!’ came from Trodger, and the booted feet clattered off and out of the front door.
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