She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. “Look here, daddy,” she said, in a tone of great reasonableness, “I MUST go to that dance, you know. “I do not think so. I should scarcely have known you. ” He smiled, and she felt love for him in that moment as the smile lit up his ebony eyes, eyes whose blackness seemed unfathomable. ‘Where was I? Oh yes. He would provide the necessities of life and protect her. 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.
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