Part 8 And as she sat on her bed that night, musing and half-undressed, she began to run one hand down her arm and scrutinize the soft flow of muscle under her skin. But you could have just as easily lost your womb in the Pestilence, and your life. You'll find me at supper. But in between these wider phases of comparative confidence were gaps of disconcerting doubt, when the universe was presented as making sinister and threatening faces at her, defying her to defy, preparing a humiliating and shameful overthrow. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. Recollect, he's chained to the ground by a great horse-padlock, and is never unloosed except when he comes to that hatch. She dismissed the idea of doing so. And don’t tell me what you’ve been up to, dashing off to Remenham House with that Kimble lad, and Lord knows what besides, because I don’t want to know.
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