She was trying to adjust the wimple, dragging at it and fighting with her loosened hair. ‘Jarvis Remenham was your mother’s father. No work that offered was at all of the quality she had vaguely postulated for herself. And at the sight something leaped within her. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. ’ He gave the gaping Pottiswick a shove, passing him on to his junior, who was waiting patiently by the kitchen door. Not once during the ceremony did the two look at each other, but riveted their gaze upon the lips of the man who was forging the bands: gazed intensively, as if they feared the world might vanish before the last word of the ceremony was spoken. It was explosive and gratifying.
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