His technique had gained much subtlety over the years. He grunted a little with effort, and she realised the gilt frame must be heavy. He stood up, apparently intending to put an arm about her, but she stepped back from him quickly. Father-worshipping sons are abnormal— and they’re no good. All along the wooden benches before it sat a profusion of soldiery, a collection of barbers in attendance, busily employed in replaiting and powdering their hair ready for a military review scheduled for this afternoon. No amount of scrubbing could remove the stains, the blood of an unknown man she had stolen from the scene of a car accident, a stupid drunk with no license who had wrapped his Chevy truck around a very large oak tree. Brendon. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor.
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