I have been imaging—” “Mr. ‘And if not her, for she is dead, then me. The door was opened for her by a weary-looking youth in a striped jacket several sizes too large for him. Show him no quarter, Poll. His hand traveled below her loose neckline, and he cupped her round breast in his hand. “Nor am I now,” he answered. "He's safe enough, I assure you. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. "It'll ease your mind.
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