"I—" She bit her tongue. She would not get mad.
He wagged his head. "I'll peruse Brendel's books. Fine collection for a young man, books."
Gritting her teeth, she hurtled back to the dress.
The collectors rang every five minutes after that. They kept ringing until she went and told them Ferren would not come out.
It wasn't the way she had imagined it would be when she was married. What with punching Brendel's meals, sending out his clothes, going collecting with him and quarreling, she hardly had a minute. And the same stupid people, Elka, Ferren, her mother and father, were always there.
The bell rang. Her father scowled, seeing Ferren on Brendel's best sitshelf. "Where?" he said grimly.
"Mexico," she said.
"Pottery," he said, going.
The bell rang. A heavy-jawed youth said, "Miss Webster gave me—"