Kate Honeycourt was sitting on the floor of the priest’s hole when he arrived. The library door opened and she heard his voice, and her brother’s. She started, spattering ink over the page of her diary. James was here!
Her gaze jerked down to the diary in her lap. I shall, of course, treat James as if my feelings go no deeper than friendship. That goes without saying. But why does it grow no easier? One would think, after all these years, that— The sentence ended in a splotch of ink.
I shall, of course, treat James as if my feelings go no deeper than friendship. That goes without saying. But why does it grow no easier? One would think, after all these years, that— The voices became louder. Her secret hiding place had become a trap.
Kate dropped the quill and hastily snuffed the candle.
