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.
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