And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company. Her gown was minimalist compared to those concoctions of boning and lace of long ago, she reflected, but that did not stop it from getting caught on 134 brambles and twigs. Kneebone and Winifred. Even her debt to him was a triviality now. It was Sebastian’s fault for slapping her face and letting the baby out. He’ll do. But I am not worthy to be any man's wife —far less his wife. ‘Now then, Gerald, out with it. Your glove will suffice. Mrs.
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