Monday: She cursed herself for stumbling in her attempt to make up an excuse for the non-existent “conversation” she had “overheard”.
Tuesday: She longed to stamp her foot with frustration, but dared do no more than wiggle her toes hard in her slippers.
Wednesday: The consequence of either of her choices had driven her mouth dry.
Thursday: He had sat for a long while in the glade after the Lady Marguerite had gone, berating himself for agreeing to meet her again, yet knowing he would count every hour until her return.
Friday: He made a face from his unobtrusive corner mocking, unbeknownst to them, their puffed up airs as they played their slow, stately cadences.