In the periphery of her vision, she saw the door pulled back. He had never wanted daughters. Sheila’s own waif of a husband had objected to her airing the truth, he had even gotten the nerve to bring up the word divorce. She did not remember how many seasons it took before she relented, how much time before she decided to toy with his affections. The carpenter well knew from the obstacle which had interfered with his own progress, that the unknown could not have passed through the same lock as himself. He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. ‘Didn’t mean it, love. ’ He shifted unguardedly, and hissed a breath, wincing.
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