You’re a lady. His eyebrows arched, knotting in the middle. She felt her chest trying to float up, but the blessed undertow, the dreaded reason why she was warned to never bathe in the ocean, sucked her feet down, putting the decision where it belonged, into the hands of God. She wrapped a leg around him. On a bench at the foot of the trees, with a pipe in his mouth, and a tankard by his side, sat the worthy carpenter, looking the picture of good-heartedness and benevolence. Their momentary absence seemed to have worked wonders; for now the most perfect understanding appeared to subsist between them. Go on.
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