She sought hastily in her mind for a plausible answer to an obvious question that didn’t come. They’re too free for their innocence or too innocent for their freedom. There was a third lady among the younger set. “I am a fool,” he said. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. It hadn’t even been called Kentucky back then when the Shawnee still hunted deer over mossy hills and the smoke from their fires could still inspire terror. Wood—and after him came his daughter.
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