She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. "You have said," pursued the widow, "that she, who has once erred, is irreclaimable. Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. Each one had been different from the others, each had had a quality all its own, a distinctive freshness, a distinctive beauty. Her lover surely did not 223 understand the implications of what he had asked for and his lust blinded him to the realities of existence even now.
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