Pottiswick’s daughter found her tongue. There was question in Gerald’s gaze as it met hers, and apology in his voice. It would be easy enough for me to write an eloquent letter about something else. Still, my tutor was a highly educated scholar—my father. Seemed like he knew so much—more than me, miss. "Not a syllable," replied Wild. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. He would have to sit down here in Canton and wait, perhaps for weeks.
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