For all her begging she had been given the choice to go into the nunnery and “learn how to read scrolls with the rest of God’s Spinsters” by her father, but had quickly lost interest when presented with the idea of bearing babies. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. Her anger parlayed with her confusion, as she realized that the new marriage was about as optional as the first one and her hunger was growing inside her like a weed. Love—admiration for your matchless beauty alone sways me. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. ’ Her breath tightened and she was obliged to control an inner ferocity.
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