One night, she drew close to him in bed, trying to warm herself by embracing his back. His physical body was predictably paralyzed with shyness and fear of rejection, barely soothed with a series 51 of blatantly direct requests and compliments. ’ ‘Militia, miss,’ Kimble corrected her. His face was very serious. ‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little neck to try and save it. But the relief from the strain of her immediate necessities was immense. A few days ago I saw him leave your house. The guards, horse and foot, and constables formed a wide circle round it to keep off the mob. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. .
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