''It''s queer for you, here,'' he says, coming closer to me. ''Don''t mind it. You shall be at London soon. There''s more life there. Think of that.'' I say nothing. ''Will you speak? Hmm, Maud? Come, you needn''t be fey; not now, with me. Our wedding-night, Maud!'' He has come to my side. He raises his hand and grips the head-board above my pillow and shakes it, hard, until the legs of the bed lurch and grind against the floor.
I close my eyes. The shuddering continues another moment, then the bed grows still. But he keeps his arm above me, and I feel him watching. I feel the bulk of him—seem to see the darkness of him, even through my eyelids. I sense him change. The mouse or bird still moves in the ceiling of the room, and I think he puts back his head, to follow its path. Then the house falls quiet, and he studies me again.
And then his breath comes, quick, against my cheek. He has blown in my face. I open my eyes. ''Hey,'' he says softly. His look is strange. ''Don''t say you''re afraid.'' He swallows. Then he brings back his arm from the head-board, slowly. I flinch, thinking he might strike me. But he does not do that. His gaze moves over my face, then settles at the h