"So get up, and leave off whimpering. See paragraph 1. ‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. The books slid from her arms and fluttered to the floor. Were I to let you go, you'd say I feared you. The baby boy was delivered in a sea of black blood, born dead and blue, and strangled by plague. Is this a reason?’ ‘Not good enough? Now I had every hope that it would appeal to you. A moistened velvet touch found her tongue. “You don’t propose, do you,” she said quietly, “that I should take this man for my husband?” “You can drive him away,” Annabel cried.
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