She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. And most of the others she had met had, she felt, the same steadfastness. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. Reluctantly she found him beguiling after he had eaten. She barely heard a word that Martin or Brown said, until Martin’s voice chimed. Sheppard, with an agonized look at Wood. “Solitary walks?” “That’s the point of them. ” Annabel sank suddenly into a chair. \"I wasn't aware that I had rejected him, or so harshly.
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