From time to time the man below would shout, and the boy would let the threads go with the snap of a harpist, only to recover them instantly. It had rained during the night, and the patch-work pavement was greasy with mud. Every time he left a room, she chastised herself bitterly for her own profound weakness. The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. ‘Now I see why you’re marrying this woman, Hilary. And yet the secondary emotion was one of suspicion.
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