Chapter 43

“We’ll have the weaver.” Just as if somebody forbade her to have him. She said nought of all I’d told her, never a word about it being a foolish or forrard thing to save a strange young man’s life without with your leave or by your leave. She only kept on giving little nods now and again, and saying— “Ah. Come summer, we’ll have weaver.” Then she said she’d go to bed now, and I went and wrote in my book. There was no change in our lives, only it was quieter without Jancis coming in of a Sunday. The Stone House seem…