Mercifully, John had been sick for two of the three days of Thanksgiving week, giving her reprieve from both his presence and the machinations of Katy Pfister, who was always less active on days when he was not around. He understood now that it was a part of her inheritance. An enormous Hand that rose up swiftly, blotting out the sky. And the fact that it was dressed in riding gear had fooled her into thinking it was her own image. It felt too good. It’s only as if I’d begun to know you the day before yesterday or there-abouts. “Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. You will be free to remarry, of course. She began to look for beauty and discover it in unexpected aspects and places. But if she smiled at all it was with her eyes. "You have betrayed me," said he, in a deep whisper, to his companion; "but you shall reap the reward of your treachery.
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