I—I am a lovesick idiot, and not accountable for my actions. These were his mistresses, Poll Maggot and Edgeworth Bess. You have grown into my life, and I cannot tear you out. He knocked on the doorframe. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. The sky beyond was a surreal color of pink that reminded her of the windows she had once been entranced by at the castle chapel, their leaden lines depicting old religious stories and sufferings.
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