Will o’ Wisp grew taut as a bow-string on the sudden. “Dare not never shadowed me since I was breeked. I’ve little to boast about except that.”
They went together up the road, and turned into the track that led between lean, benty lands to Garsykes.
“If Hardcastle had done a wrong to me?” she asked.
He gripped her shoulder till she winced. “I’d kill him,” he said simply.
“A man, are you, after all?”
“I was born one, as it happened.”
“Oh, it’s not so bad as to ask murder,” said Nita, her voice gentle as a dove’s. “Hardcastle slighted me—no more than that—took the heart out of my body and threw it away for frolic.”
“Did he?” said Will o’ Wisp.
“Not murder,” she pleaded, her hand like velvet on his arm.
“That’s as maybe.”