“We are late on the road; I can make no tarrying.”
The door quivered a moment as though shaken by a gusty wind. Everything was quiet again, and Igraine could hear the man breathing. Putting her mouth to the crack between post and hinge-board she laughed stridently as though in scorn.
“Igraine!”
The voice was half-imperative, half-appealing.
“My very dear lord!”
“Are you abed?”
“No, dear lord.”
“Open to me; I would kiss your lips before I sally.”
“You have never kissed me these many days.”
“True, wife; is it fault of mine?”