She had prepared herself to meet violent protest, a recurrence of that burning glance. We all love you dearly. Supper was spaghetti and Italian sausage that night. There! You are trying to take your hand away. I’m fine. ’ Total bullshit, if you ask me. She leaned forward in her chair, as if petrified in fear by the scary story. She would look up, shake her head, and then go back to her reading or crewelwork. Let me recommend a glass of wine. It would surely be only common politeness to drop her a hint—a fellow countrywoman too. ’ Triumph soared in Gerald’s chest.
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