She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. Don’t say anything, she thought to herself, say nothing more, Martin. That is what stands between us, if you would know—that. You won’t settle and I’m going mad. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. ‘No, let me guess,’ he interrupted. To his relief, Mrs Sindlesham stepped into the breach, grasping her cane and rising painfully from her chair. She always dawdled, so it was easy.
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