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307 pages, Paperback
First published January 27, 2009

Really, Whit was about as perceptive as a… Well she (Mirabelle) didn´t know excatly. Something blind and deaf. Pity he wasn´t mute in the bargain.
During one of his most fanciful moments he (Whit) had imagined the two of them, old and grey, seated before the fire in the front parlor and taking swings at each other with their canes.
Really, Whit was about as perceptive as to... Well she (Mirabelle) didn´t know excatly. Something blind and deaf. Pity he wasn´t mute in the bargain.
During one of his most fanciful moments he (Whit) had imagined the two of them, old and grey, seated before the fire in the front parlor and taking swings at each other with their canes.
"For God's sake, I've seen feral cats less skittish."
"The fact that you're frightening to children and small animals is hardly cause—"
"No harm in it?" Mrs. Jarles very nearly screeched. "We could all be murdered! Murdered in our own beds!"
"Would you prefer the parlor?" Whit inquired with a politely interested tone.
"Very well, I haven't been any more uncomfortable taking your charity than I would be taking anyone else's."
He swore softly. "It's not charity."
"Of course it is. Freely given as you said, but charity all the same. How would you feel in my position?"
"It isn't the same thing."
"Oh? Why not?"
"Because I'm a man."
"And you're allowed a pride I am not?" she asked hotly.