‘Yes, but I’m probably chasing moonbeams. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. Sulphurous poisons assaulted her nostrils as she threw the stone to one side of its resting place. Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. She was the type that people of every age gravitated to, naturally affable and kind to everyone. Here, then, but for the time and place, might be another Sidney Carton. But take a drop of wine," urged he, filling a drinking-horn and presenting it to her; "it's choice canary, and'll do you good.
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