‘Desist, you little devil,’ he growled in her ear. Wild. “In self-defence I had to,” she answered. Yet her embarrassment was only a passing thing. The sky beyond was a surreal color of pink that reminded her of the windows she had once been entranced by at the castle chapel, their leaden lines depicting old religious stories and sufferings. “We will see that he doesn’t follow you. I’ll give you grandpére!’ ‘But milor’—’ ‘Pardon!’ No longer master of his actions, the general lurched forward, waving his cane. Do sit down, dear boy. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson.
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