I am something of an old fogey, Anna, I’m afraid, but if you treat me like this you will teach me to forget it. “The horse’s knees are broken, and I am not sure that the man is sober. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. ‘I do not mind to pray, no. She was going to him soon and certainly, going to his strong, embracing arms. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind.
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