She was making it up. She tried to be casual. “I was sick of the make-believe. Supper was quickly served; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink—their hearts were too full. There was no sense in creating further difficulties for herself by arguing with the sergeant over her identity. ‘I knows how to do better nor any surgeon. Sheppard from his elevated position. He wasn't quite hard enough to win worldly success; that was his fault. It was finished by the end of that year, each character having asserted itself pronouncedly in my imagination. “Yeah, I’ve heard that story. Sheppard. ” He ruminated for a minute.
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