He caressed her tenderly, with no trace of the Sebastian who had previously knocked her off her feet with a slap across the mouth. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. She lit the cigarette with a tiny Kelly green drugstore lighter. Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain. As she approached, the carpenter's wife eyed her from head to foot, in the hope of finding something in her person or apparel to quarrel with.
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