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She paced restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words begging to be uttered. Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous. But that did not stop Trodger, who had ridden up from Kent for the purpose, from detailing every little inspection and sortie that his men had made in their allotted task of watching Remenham House. Easily I could have killed you. "Time to dress for dinner," said Ruth from behind the curtain.
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