Читать книгу The Memory Palace - Christie Dickason - Страница 22

To judge by his open relief at the denuded chapel, Gifford had clearly expected more resistance. The reassembled company were fewer in number and subdued. None of the children had returned, and who could blame them? Nor was Doctor Bowler there.

Zeal imagined him seated alone somewhere, gathering the courage to be chastised by the man who had wounded him.

She could not look at Gifford as he married her. A smirk of satisfaction had followed his relief. Now his pale eyes shot forth spears of will to pin her in place while he prescribed marriage as God’s remedy against sin.

If only he knew the worst of it!

She could smell scented sheep’s grease on his hands. When he spoke, his lips stretched and curled like two bristly caterpillars. And how she loathed that mellifluous voice, which belonged by rights to a larger man! Such authoritative cadences, such swelling diapasons and profound rumblings could not possibly emerge from that scrawny body.

He’s a rusty-furred terrier, she decided. Not a large hunting sort but one of the smaller quivering breeds designed to go down rat and rabbit holes. Given to leaping up and yapping at the slightest sound.