I’d rather not go,” she added. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. But send me word. If he took a fancy to you, he invited you to the house for tea, bitter and yellow and served in little cups without handles. There was no answer, just grunting, so she repeated the question in Latin, then in Greek, to which Rhea responded. ‘Don’t be silly. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. She looked about and discovered a door partially hidden by shadow. His sword then came in for his scrutiny: he felt at, and appeared satisfied with its edge.
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