Come close to me, and let me hold your hand, dear. I have read that authors are very selfish and self-centred. ’ ‘That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. She knew that her voice was superior to Annabel’s, and she had no further qualms. He regretted— more deeply than he could say—the occurrence of this evening. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. Never again would he repeat that kiss; but at night when they separated, he would touch her forehead with his lips, and sometimes he would hold her hand in his and pat it.
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