The inn was a military haunt. I bound him up good and tight, stuffed his mouth with a length of rope, taped it shut. Lucy had baked the apple and pumpkin pies, carefully molding the flour crusts and adding extra teaspoonfuls of allspice and cinnamon while no one looked. Besides, you've secrets which must not be disclosed. I'm not particular what or where. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. To many in that crowded solitude it came as an extraordinary relief.
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