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It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another. I asked him why, and he hadn’t a reason. ’ ‘Well, I am glad he did not,’ intervened Lucilla, forestalling another withering comment from the captain. “I have given it up,” she answered. “But—” The long inconsecutive conversation by that time was getting on her nerves. She went to market every day to fetch the daily bread and more herbs for more medicines and potions, plus treats for the apprentices made of honey and almond paste. She was wan and white. She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force. It was a long walk she had to undertake, even if she had endured no previous fatigue, but feeble as she was, it was almost more than she could accomplish. The first peg was torture.
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