Chapter Twenty-Three

Elena awoke one morning with a new lightness in her soul. With all her might, she tried to hold on to the dream she was having, but as much as she tried, it faded away from her, like trying to grab a fistful of air. Opening her eyes, she regarded her husband as he came into view, sleeping with his hand behind his head. His hair had grown rather long, covering much of the scarred flesh on his temple and eyebrow. She gently brushed his hair out of his face, trying not to wake him. She knew he still disliked his scarring, likely much as she still despised her own scars, but she found him beautiful, scars and all. Elena felt the overwhelming need to rouse him and tell him something, but what was it? What had her dream told her? This one had been different, solid and real, and hopeful in a way she wouldn't dare to be hopeful outside of dreams. She remembered Annie once told her that she sometimes woke up and wrote down her dreams so she could remember them later, but Elena was not in the habit of doing so, nor did she have paper at hand. Instead, she leaned over and lightly pressed her lips to David's forehead, trying to say many things she was not yet ready to closely examine in that kiss. She felt his hand come up to her hair, twisting the locks between his fingers.

"Wife."

"Husband."

"Whatever shall we do today?" His hand began to travel leisurely from her hair down her back.

She relaxed into his touch. "I was going to meet with some of the builders about plans for the hospital, but that was moved until next week."

He pushed himself up on his elbow and began playing with her braid. "I would like to attend that meeting to ensure they give you a fair price."

"I do not need that. I'm a merchant's daughter," she scoffed.

He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and tapped her chin. "Yes, but you do not know the price of materials or labor in England."

She had to admit he had a point, but she was not ready to concede, still wanting to tease him awake. "True, but I am still the better negotiator." She hopped up out of bed as he tried to catch her.

"Elena, this isn't fair. I don't have my cane."

"Oh right, I am sorry." She picked up his cane and walked back toward the bed, reaching it out to him.

"Not fair for you!" He pulled on the other end of the cane, then caught her around the waist and threw her back on the bed as she shrieked with laughter. The lightness in her soul bubbled up, and she cupped his face and kissed him, pulling him to her so she could wrap her arms and legs around him. In that kiss, she tried to share that lightness, to show him how happy she was here.

As they broke apart, he set his forehead against hers. "What were we saying?"

"You were asking me what we were doing today."

"Ah, yes. I unfortunately have a great deal of business and correspondence, but I hope I can join you later today."

"Yes, Irene was going to show me the wishing well this afternoon."

He eased onto his back. "What do you need a wishing well for when you have the bees?"

"True," she conceded, "but do the bees grant wishes?"

He appeared to think on that for a minute. "I'm not sure I dare get close enough to ask."

"I'll tell my secrets to the bees and my dreams to the wishing well. How is that?" Elena offered.

"I'm just glad that you're dreaming again." He pulled back and looked down at her, flashing that grin she loved so well. Maybe that was what the new lightness was from. She returned the smile with one of her own.

"Me too, amorul meu , me too."

He gave her a quizzical look, but she just shook her head. She needed to understand and explore this lightness first before she was ready to make any grand statements or decisions. She enjoyed the lightness, with its infinite possibility, and let it spread through her entire body as they spent several more hours in bed that morning before they both rose for the day.

****

"Irene, this is much farther than the bees. I'm glad we did not bring Goliath. It would be very taxing for him." Elena shaded her eyes as she looked in the distance for this mythical wishing well, dearly regretting that neither of them had brought a parasol.

"He was very interested in that bone by the stables anyway. Don't worry. It's just a little further, Elena. I promise it's worth it."

"All right, I—" At that moment, as the woods came into sight, Elena could swear she heard the hum of bees, but that didn't make any sense. The bees were some way off in the other direction. Then she realized the hum was in her own blood, and suddenly, she was reminded of the times she had seen Goliath with his hackles up as she stood rigid, the skin on the back of her neck tingling.

Elena felt something fly by her ear, so close it almost sliced the side of her face. A knife? The next thing she knew, she had been tackled to the ground, and Irene was screaming. She smelled cloves and tobacco and something else—Anatole. He'd always had a way with knives.

Elena struggled against Anatole, who had always been wiry but was now fighting her with the energy of a rabid animal. However, in his focus, he did not seem to notice Irene. Of course, a small woman would be inconsequential to him. She briefly wondered if that had been him in London when she was with Annamaria or with Sophie. He only seemed to dare approach her if she was alone or with another woman.

"Irene, you have to get help. You have to go!" she shouted, her voice much harsher than she had ever spoken to Irene before.

Anatole's hands found her neck to silence her. Before he could, she hit him in the center of his chest, and though he gasped, he did not move his weight off her. Instead, his hands went straight to her wrists to pin her down.

Irene stared at Elena helplessly, seeming unable to step in for fear she might hurt Elena or get hurt in the process. Anatole was so wholly focused that he still did not seem to register Irene. She realized that sending her away would save her even if Irene couldn't get help in time. Anatole always had multiple knives, and they were both unarmed.

It didn't matter what happened to her now, Elena thought. She needed to save David's little sister. Her sister in her heart. She could see Irene's torn expression over Anatole's shoulder as Elena drew on her last ounce of strength to get the words out.

"Irene. Go. You need to get help. I can hold him, little sister."

Irene's eyes widened for a moment as something passed between them, and then she turned and took off running. Oblivious to Irene's departure, Anatole twisted Elena's wrist, then used his forearms to brace against her chest. He brought his head down and pushed her bonnet aside so that he could whisper in her ear. Up close, he smelled even worse than she could have imagined, as a burnt, rotting scent filled her nose and left a metallic taste in her mouth.

He spoke in Russian, his voice harsh and guttural. "You think your English lord will save you? He will thank me for ridding him of his peasant whore. I can't believe I let filth like you convince me to run away."

Elena knew that if she could keep him talking, she could wait until help came. They would come. She just hoped in time.

"I seem to remember it was your idea, Anatole. You begged me," she responded in Russian.

He raised his hand as if to strike her. She flinched but couldn't move him off her.

"I've never begged a woman before. You seduced me to take your innocence like the filthy peasant slut you are." He used the back of his hand to hit her across the face.

The anvil fears no blow. His hand felt like nothing. His words felt like nothing. She felt nothing. She only saw her goal: she had to keep him talking. She thought she heard a dog bark in the distance, but Anatole was still so focused on her that he did not seem to notice. She struggled against his arms but could not break free.

"You don't even know where my family is, do you? You lied like you always do!"

"What do I care for filthy traitors to the patriarch, to the tsar? They should have fought for us," he spat. "But you, you deserve to suffer. You'll pay for abandoning me. For everything that followed."

"How did you find me?" It was all she could think to ask to keep him talking. She was still so shocked to see him. She couldn't believe she had thought herself in love with this cruel, wiry man. She had been so young and na?ve then. How could she have known his first response to crisis would be violence?

"Did you doubt I would? There were rumors that an English lord married a girl who looked like you. One with a scar. Of course I remembered my own handiwork."

As he spoke, he ran his finger across her temple, and Elena recoiled as if burned. She didn't mind when David ran his fingers down her scar, as his hands always had a gentleness to them despite their rough texture. But Anatole's grimy touch felt like a violation of her very soul. She recognized that smell now from his hands as they lingered at her cheek. It was the smell of dried blood.

"When you didn't respond to my letter, I found out you left town and followed you to the estate. I've been living in the woods, waiting for a glimpse of you alone."

"Why? Why would you do all of this? Why come after me?"

He grabbed her face with one hand, turning her jaw toward him, and he looked directly into her eyes. For a moment, he seemed calm, almost rational, and she thought she saw a glimpse of that boy she thought she knew. Then he spoke, and his voice was so unsettling that Elena felt fear unlike any she had known.

"Because you had to pay, Elena. You couldn't do what you did to me and then live a life of luxury as a fine lady. Blood for blood."

"I took no blood from you! I did nothing to you, Anatole."

"You bewitched me. You used your lures to make me leave my mission. The Imperial army turned back at Sillistra. The Orthodox in the Ottoman Empire did not fight for the tsar as they should have. My information was not good enough."

She looked at the hands and arms that gripped her under ragged, torn clothes. Nothing but skin and bone, covered in scars. Torture. She suddenly understood. He had likely been harshly punished for the information he brought back or for leaving his post and had to blame someone for what happened to him.

"I am sorry for what happened to you, Anatole."

"I wouldn't have left but for you! And then you left me," he hissed.

"I just wanted my family's blessing, not to run off like thieves in the night. I tried to explain—"

"Oh, you explained enough. You made me love you, and you left me." By this point, he had both of her wrists in a vise grip. However, if he held her wrists, he would have to move his hands to do anything else.

"We weren't in love, Anatole. We were in lust and infatuation. Obsession. If you loved me, you never would have cut me."

In that moment, he drew back as if momentarily stunned, and she was able to use the ground to leverage her body against him and throw him off her. She began to get up off the ground, but he grabbed her and pulled her back down, pushing one bony elbow against her throat to choke her, as the other arm went to his pocket. He hovered above her, pulling out another, larger knife. She remembered sitting with him under a tree as he carved their names into the bark, and he told her how his father had given him that particular knife on his deathbed, showing her the engraving. Young Elena had been entranced by this sad, tragic boy, but now she wondered if any of what he had told her had been true. Elena's blood ran cold as the silver of the knife caught the sun, the inscription gleaming in the light.

As she struggled for air, she began to feel her will to fight leave as sick resignation washed over her. He wasn't just going to cut her face this time. He was going to end her life. Odd for the living, even for the dead . With this realization came a raw, aching pain in her chest. If only she could have seen David one last time. To thank him for everything. To tell him. To tell him… She felt consciousness begin to slip away as she gasped for air. Anatole started to mutter as if in prayer, but in that moment, he didn't hear the bark had grown closer.

****

"David!"

David had not heard his sister so distressed since their father died, and she had found his body in his study. Oddly the very same study where he now sat with a letter that could change his entire life.

Irene ran in with her bonnet askew and her pale walking gown stained at the bottom with grass, panting and sobbing. This was not a good sign, as his sister was not one to give in to tears easily. She threw herself into his arms as he rose, and he could tell she was trying to say something but couldn't catch her breath.

He held her tight as he felt a cold fist clamp on his chest, making it difficult to get enough air as he ground out the words, "Irene, where is Elena?"

Irene pulled back and looked up at him, gasping but trying to steady herself. "There was a man. A man attacked us. She told me to run, to get help. But I left her David. I left her! What if he hurts her?"

Elena hadn't sent Irene away just to get help, he thought. She had sent Irene away to protect her, leaving Elena alone with this man. He felt a surge of love for his wife, whom he didn't think he could love any more if he tried. But that surge was quickly replaced by a cold jolt of fear. David had a feeling he knew who this man was, and he cursed himself for not realizing he would follow her outside London. Dread began to set in, but he could best help Elena if he kept a level head and shut down his emotions. If he let the soldier take over.

"Irene, think carefully. Where was this?"

"By the wishing well. Please hurry, David!"

The panic started to set back in, more bone-deep this time. He willed it to go away. He needed to hold on for just a bit longer. "You did well, Irene. I'm going to get her. Now, I want you to rest. I'll ring for —"

"I'm going back with you!"

"Irene—"

"No, David, she's my sister, and I won't abandon her. Besides, I know exactly where she is."

He pulled back to look at Irene. "She said that? That you're her sister?"

Irene nodded, finally seeming to catch her breath. He didn't know what that meant for him, but it didn't matter right now. Elena didn't have to love him back. She didn't have to stay. She just needed to survive. He could not live in a world where she did not walk this earth.

"Fine. There is no arguing with you. I'll send someone for the law, and we'll be away."

He grabbed his sister's arm, leaving his cane behind. Fear he had never known before, not even on the battlefield, threatened to flood his body and soul, but he prayed Elena could hold on. She had to hold on.

****

Elena had never really appreciated the size of Goliath's jaw until she saw it bearing down on a grown man's forearm. A strong man like David might have been able to throw him off, but Anatole looked sickly and weak. He had been living in the forest, Elena remembered. Anatole cried out and tried to shake off Goliath, attempting to stab him, but Goliath held firm. As blood trickled down Anatole's arm, he cursed and dropped his knife. Somehow, using his back paws as leverage, Goliath was able to pull Anatole to the ground. He let go of Anatole's arm and put his giant paws on the man's chest, immediately placing his jaw around Anatole's throat. Elena flinched. Goliath had Anatole trapped against the ground with the weight of his paws, his jaw caging Anatole's neck but not bearing down. He seemed like…he was waiting on her. Goliath was waiting for her to give the command. To kill. From the way his body froze and his eyes widened, Anatole realized this too.

She had never seen Goliath like this before. The gentle giant she had known was gone, his features twisted into a vicious snarl, his teeth poised to carry out her order. She was reminded for a second of the wolves in stories her grandmother told, vengeful remnants on this earth who stopped at nothing to obtain their justice. Elena slowly, shakily, got to her feet. Was this her chance for vengeance? Here lay the man who had taken her love, her innocence, her beauty and turned her against her family. He wasn't the reason they were gone, but he was the reason she wasn't with them when they fled, or whatever happened to them that day. He had scouted her village, gotten to know them, and then given their secrets to the Russian army. Like a judge, she weighed the case against him, and all the evidence told her he deserved to die. But there was one more thing, one last chance. She put a hand to Goliath's back and knelt down to Anatole's ear.

"Where is my family?" she asked, again in Russian. She felt a last, final sliver of hope swell in her heart, as perhaps with the looming threat of Goliath's teeth, Anatole would finally tell the truth.

Anatole could barely speak from Goliath's grip on his throat, his voice coming out in a rasp. "I don't know. I just wrote that to draw you out," he spat, his momentary vulnerability disappearing into a snarl. "How pathetic when you know they probably perished in the war."

That hope that had swelled in her chest rapidly deflated, leaving a harsh, bitter taste in her mouth. That bitterness made her heart hard, made her hate in a way that she had never allowed herself in all her life. And that hate made her utter words she never thought she would say. She put her mouth back to his ear and spoke in a hushed tone as if saying it quietly would make it less vile.

"Give me a reason why I shouldn't."

Anatole eyed Goliath fearfully but remained silent, letting her make the decision.

In that moment, all she wanted to do was hurt him as much as she hurt, to punish him for killing that last, final sliver of hope. But the rush left as swiftly as it came, and she felt empty instead, the bitter taste giving way to a nothingness.

Just then, a cool breeze of mercy spilled over her, and with it came the clarity of what it would cost her to kill him. She had always felt herself dirty before, stained by the sins of the past, but she finally understood that most of the things she had done, while perhaps thoughtless, were not cruel. As David said, she was punishing herself over and over for one bad decision. Letting Goliath kill Anatole would truly tarnish her soul in a way from which she might never recover. She recognized that as angry as she was with herself, with Anatole, hurting him wouldn't bring her family back. It wouldn't make up for anything he had done to her. And he had already suffered so much.

Finally, she knew the answer to the question, that forgiveness for herself and mercy for Anatole were the most powerful weapons she had in her arsenal. Even if she could never forgive him for what he had done, she could spare his life today.

"I give you your life, Anatole," she whispered, though there was no reason to whisper anymore. "You are monstrous, but you won't make a monster of me."

Now, if Goliath could just hold him until help came.

She looked up as she felt the ground rumble. She had been so concentrated on Anatole that she hadn't seen or heard David and Irene riding toward them with several men. David dismounted and strode over toward them, gun drawn. He looked so beautiful and strong, and she had never been so happy to see anyone in her life.

"Elena!"

David's voice was harder than she'd ever heard it before, and he seemed unable to look at her. The relief she felt in seeing him was quickly replaced with fear that he was angry with her, that he thought she had sought Anatole out on her own, that he might have hurt himself riding out to save her. She stood, feeling dazed as if it had been years since she had seen her husband instead of hours.

"Goliath has him pinned," she murmured. She could scarcely recognize her own voice. It sounded so faint.

David nodded. "Call Goliath off, and we'll take him to the constable," David addressed Anatole, his jaw clenched. "The Foreign Office will be particularly interested in why a Russian spy is here in the English countryside. You will be enjoying the pleasures of the local jail until the Foreign Office sends someone to collect you."

She turned to glance at Anatole and could tell from his expression that he did not understand what David had said, so she translated for him. Anatole's eyes went even wider, giving his face a carved-out, skeletal look. Out of nowhere, men appeared on either side of him.

Finally, David looked at her. She watched his gaze go to her face, which she realized was still smarting, and she put her hand on her cheek where Anatole had hit her. Elena saw an uncontainable rage, which she had never seen before, flash across David's face as he rounded on Anatole.

"You came to her home, and you laid your hands on her," David ground out and began to advance on Anatole. Irene, who had dismounted by then, put a hand on her brother's arm, stilling him.

"Goliath," Elena said gently. "Come here."

Goliath slowly walked over to her. He was limping slightly, and she felt great sorrow at what saving her had cost him. As he came to nuzzle her hand, she felt a lump rise in her throat.

"Irene!" she called, her voice shaking. "Can you take Goliath back home and take care of his back leg?"

As the men began to drag Anatole away, never one to take defeat graciously, he started to shout in Russian. "Whore! I'll tell them you betrayed your town! I'll tell them how you seduced me and your English lord, Elena."

Elena was grateful David could not comprehend Anatole's words, but she could tell he understood the general idea of what Anatole was yelling at her. David pulled back his fist.

Smack.

Irene had beaten him to it, striking Anatole full across the face. Being so thoroughly smacked by so small a person seemed to stun Anatole momentarily, and he slumped against the men dragging him away.

"You will never speak her name again. You will never touch my sister again, or we will kill you!"

Both David and Elena turned to stare at Irene, suddenly so far away from the timid, waxen doll of the London ballrooms. She looked so spectacular that Elena knew she didn't have the heart to tell Irene that Anatole did not understand what she was saying.

"Irene, I'm supposed to say that." David looked both frustrated and impressed with his little sister.

"Well, I took care of it for you." She shook her hand, wincing in pain. "I didn't know hitting someone would hurt so much. I suppose I won't be playing piano for a few days."

"Why don't you go back and get a compress on your hand?" David gave her a rueful smile. "You were quite the hero today."

"I was, wasn't I?" Irene gave them an impish grin, then hugged Elena, pulling back to look at her. "Are you all right?"

Elena looked over at David, who stood tense and rigid. She still felt as if he was avoiding looking at her.

"I'll be all right." She only hoped her marriage would be all right. Elena looked down and saw a silver glint among the lush green of the grass. She bent to pick up the knife handle, turning it over in her hands. She felt David observing her out of the corner of her eye. Suddenly, she realized that this was the knife that had scarred her. She was seized by a need to destroy it, to throw it as far away from her as she could, but she let the moment pass and instead held out the hilt to David. She hadn't noticed they were now alone.

He walked over to her, took the knife, and tossed it back to the ground. In a blur, she found herself crushed in his arms.

I'm home, she thought. In those moments before Goliath seized Anatole, she had been ready to die and only wished she could have seen David one last time. She had something important to tell him, but first, she needed to know that he didn't hate her, that he didn't think she had devised this situation. She pulled back to look up at him.

"You're not angry with me?" She knew better now than to shirk back from him, but she couldn't hide the quiver in her voice.

"No, of course I wasn't angry—I just let the soldier take over until I knew you were safe. Hard to step back out of it." He pushed a strand of hair that had come out of her chignon behind her ear. Somewhere along the way, she had lost her bonnet. "I was worried," he said softly. "Terrified, more like. I thought I'd lost you, Elena."

He dragged her to him, kissed her hard, and then tightly wrapped his arms around her.

She knew, she had always known deep down, that he would always believe and trust in her. That he would never try to control her or seek vengeance. Even if he were angry with her, the man who had laughed at her dolls and listened to her read would never hurt her in that way. Love didn't have to hurt like that. Love didn't have to be possessive, like a scourge devouring all in sight. It could be warm and generous, like a golden thread that tethered one's heart to another, giving and taking light and strength from the other. And suddenly, she realized that between them, that golden thread was there, had woven all along, but she had been too afraid and too weary to see it, to feel it all. It had probably started weaving all those years ago, but she had been so wrapped up in pain and guilt and grief that she hadn't noticed. But David, bless him, had seen it all along.

"Amorul meu, " she murmured. My love.

"Elena, I have something to tell you." He released her briefly but still held her hands. "When I contacted the Foreign Office about Anatole's claims, someone had heard of your family, but I didn't want to get your hopes up before it was verified. It seems the Foreign Office and the ambassador are not always on the same page." He reached into his pocket. "I just received a letter. I was about to come find you, but then Irene came in." Elena felt time stop as if she were on the precipice of either great heartbreak or great joy. She tried to prepare herself as she waited, her heart in her throat. He went on. "Your family, they survived that day. They fled to Constantinople for a few years, but now they're settled in Bucharest."

"They-they were there when I was there?" She felt a jolt as if her heart couldn't contain all this information and everything that had happened in the past hour. And yet, that golden thread felt as if it was patching and fixing that part of her heart that had died that day. It would never be the same, as she had grown and changed, but it was finally whole again. Tears that she had not shed welled up behind her eyes until her vision was blurry. Even so, she could still see David clearly, though he now looked profoundly sad.

"I'd understand if you wanted to go back to them. I will let you go if that is what you want."

The light of the golden thread flickered for a moment. "Is that what you want?" she asked, searching his eyes, the green fading into brown. "To be rid of your strange, foreign wife?"

"No!" He looked down at her with such intensity that she physically felt it throughout her entire body. "I happen to be madly in love with my beautiful, brave wife." He took a breath and looked away, some of the intensity receding. "You were quite the hero today. I can't believe you headed him off like that. Though I'll likely have nightmares about it for years to come."

She felt herself flush. "I just held him until Goliath came," she muttered.

"I knew you were an avenging angel in those first weeks I met you. Avenging but merciful angel, I suppose. It's something to be proud of." He smiled, but not with his whole face and eyes. "I just want you to be happy, Elena. I know how much you've missed your family and your home. I want to fight for you, to stay with you for the next fifty years, but…I think the best thing I could do is set you free to go back to them. If that is what you wanted."

Standing before him, she could never have imagined such a future for herself, all these miles away from the only home she had known, looking up at this man. But she saw now that as much as she had fought it, she had started to think of this as home. Knowing her family was alive and she could possibly see them again had helped restore her heart, but this, this was home. This place, London, Goliath, Sophie, Irene, the hospital. David. Especially David. She understood now that her heart was whole again. It irrevocably belonged to him. It had probably always belonged to him. It was as if every time she had called him husband , she had been making a promise, conjuring an infinite future for them together. It had just taken her some time to see that future for what it was. All those years ago, when she lost her home and family in the same day, she had realized how deeply she loved what she had all along only when it was gone. She wouldn't make that mistake again.

"The thing is, David." She gathered herself and glanced back up at him, overwhelmed with this sudden and fierce happiness. "I want to stay if you'll have me." She swallowed as a tear began to fall down her cheek. "I've come to realize that you are my home. And my love."

He wiped the tear before it reached her dimple gently with the pad of his thumb. "Am I, Elena? Am I your love?"

His sadness seemed to ebb away as he gripped her shoulders and searched her eyes, hopeful. She laughed, and tears began to fall more freely. She pushed gently against his chest.

"I tried on that coat and found that I rather liked it. And that I was rather madly in love with you in return."

His hopeful expression suddenly turned into the most incandescent grin she had ever seen. It slowly spread across his face like a sunrise, matching hers in joy. When she looked at him, she felt as if she saw a mirror of herself. Beautiful, scars and all. It took her breath away.

"I'm so sorry it took me so long—" she began to say, but he cut her off with a kiss.

"Remember the questio n ?" h e murmured as he pulled away. "The answer comes just at the right time ."

Elena swallowed and stared up at him, so grateful that he understood how difficult it had been for her to trust in happiness, how hard-won this moment was for her. Recovering herself slightly, she looked away to wipe her eyes.

"Now we have to think of how we will thank Goliath for saving my life. And you ought to admit I was right in keeping him."

"You're always right, Elena."

She shook her head, the tears still falling, "You're just lovestruck. You'll recover."

"I suppose, on very rare occasions, you could possibly, in very, very seldom cases…be wrong. But Goliath was worth saving. I'll always trust your instincts. I can promise you that."

He grabbed both of her hands, entwining them in his, and slowly turned them to kiss her knuckles. Suddenly, their playful mood shifted. Elena felt they were promising something sacred, something more than the rushed vows they had made on the way out of Balaclava or the quick service in England.

"I'll always trust your patience, David. And your love. I know that now." She clenched her throat to hold back a sob.

"Elena." He tried to crush her in his arms, but she pushed him back so she could look up at him.

"But I want more than fifty years. I want forever."

"Fifty years was just a starting point. I figured I would have to talk you into forever."

"You are terribly good at talking people your way. It's one of your most annoying qualities."

He put his arm around her and began to steer them back home. "I started with a few hours a week, and somehow, I'm talking my way to forever, so I rather like my odds."

"Don't the bees ever tire of your silver tongue?"

"My love, the bees were behind me all along."