Of course, he said – be that as it may, Ester was not so convinced of the assurance of that. To her ear, it sounded almost defensive. The end of her own marriage had clouded most other people’s for her; she usually felt like a sighted woman in a kingdom of the blind.

Her eyes narrowed at him a little, and her smile became something more dangerous, knowing. Because he had asked a question he already knew. Was he pretending he had forgotten that Easter she had sheltered him in his laudanum haze? He had not been happy with his life then. In her experience, happiness once lost was not to be regained. (Like Adam and Eve in the garden, original sin; there was no undoing the fall that came with the knowledge of it. There was no real return to naivety, no matter how one tried.)

But here Arthur went, trying.

“Because you’re a free spirit, and free spirits oughtn’t be stifled,” Ester said, in a friendly tone. Between them, she brushed a loose lock of Gwenog’s hair back off her forehead, so that it didn’t get in her mouth as she ate. “Are you still playing with brooms?”

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