" "If my dignity must be purchased by the loss of you, I renounce it," cried Thames. " Her son complied, and sat down upon the patch-work coverlet beside her. Her eyes were dilated— fixed in a horrified stare at the parting in the curtains which hung before the window. I slaved over it, contacted half a dozen genealogy groups and came up with zilch. Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture. . For all her begging she had been given the choice to go into the nunnery and “learn how to read scrolls with the rest of God’s Spinsters” by her father, but had quickly lost interest when presented with the idea of bearing babies. I believe—I believe that I must risk it.
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