She laughed. “All gaunt with hunger—getting wolf-toothed. I, too, have whined and will whine again, for a miracle!”
He poured her more wine. “It’s a wicked old world! The only way is to grin and shove it along.”
“Unless you stop it with a rope. If I were sure I could stop it.”
“Drink your wine. Here’s to Brother Richard—dog-monk noseing out the unearthly!”
She drank. “Here’s to Prior Matthew the marshal! If it’s to be a good play, I would be a playgoer!”
“Here’s to the rotten time—the hungry people!”
“Here’s to the rotten time—the hungry people.” She drank, then set slowly down the cup and put her crossed arms upon the table and bowed her head upon them. She and Somerville were down, down, far down in themselves.