“I was taught at home, to my permanent disadvantage.”
“That explains a great deal.”
He made a small huff of amusement. “Does it? Then I regret the confession.”
The corner of her mouth altered. A shape of smile gathered there and went no further. Pain did not allow.
He saw it vanish and pressed on at once, as if silence would let the tears come back.
“Country town or large one?”
She hesitated. “Country.”
“With tolerable music?”
“Occasionally.”
“And tolerable partners?”
She gathered the air. “Much less often.”
“Then your standards are severe.”
A weak laugh broke from her. It spent her at once.
“My standards are merely awake.”
The fever returned to the front of everything. Her skin was too tight. The sheets offended. The pillow offended. Her own body offended worst of all.
“I cannot do this properly. I cannot talk as if I were well.”
“I have no expectation of it.”
“No. You have only kindness, which is worse.”
“A charge I shall contest in the morning.”
She shut her eyes against a fresh rise of tears. The pillow under her cheek was too warm, the throat of her nightdress too tight, and her hand under his too aware of the bruises she had put there. “I should not tell you anything. I have told you too much already.”
His answer came at once, very quiet. “Then tell me nothing.”
Her eyes opened again. “Nothing?”
“Nothing you ought not say.”
“You speak as though silence were easy.”
“Easier than falsehood.”
She lay looking at him through the dimness, her breath unsteady. “There are questions you might ask me that I cannot answer.”
“Then do not answer them.”
“You make it sound simple.”
“It is not simple. It is only preferable.”
The room had gone very still. Even the fire had drawn back and left them the dark between its breaths.
