Sleepy Fox Hollow [m] nomajoka

What should have been a warm afterglow of content slipped from Anselm’s grasp like water downhill; now, he was only filled with dread.

He watched her in bewilderment as she rose, a dashing of tears darkening her already sorrowed eyes. Shame once more thrust its blade in between his ribs; once more, he was the perpetual author of misery in her life.

Vhat? Came his quiet echo, disbelief trailing into a sense of entrapment. You — you tricked me! He protested, feeling injustice rifle his fur. I— he knew the next thing he said was not patently true, but he said it anyway: You come here smelling like that and expect me to just — to valk away?

She had already turned away, but Anselm followed. He would not let her paint him as the evil person - even if he knew inside he was rotten. No! He strode ahead so that she might hold his gaze, even if she did not want to. You marry someone if you love them. Anselm knew very little things, but if this, his confidence was unshakeable.

You do not love me. It was more statement than accusation. A large part of Anselm would always be unlovable, and he knew this in his heart. Vhy — vhat kind of cruel god would make its subjects marry someone they did not love? How is that fair?

His heart sank when she spoke Etienne’s name. There was something about hearing it from someone else’s mouth that curdled Anselm’s blood and dropped his stomach. For this, he had no rejoinder — for he knew he’d betrayed more than just the widow that day.