" "Swear it!" "I do. He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. Folding his arms, he placed his back against the door, and burst into a loud laugh. She even thought that perhaps she might come to love him, in spite of that faint indefinable flavor of absurdity that pervaded his courtly bearing. In the grate were some charred fragments of a marriage certificate. “It is too late for visitors,” she remarked. The simile started a laugh in his throat. They negotiated several steps, and then the stair turned a corner. There was no longer any risk in association with her.
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