The kettle just died.
And the rewrites on the first five chapters, as asked for by nice editor, are done. Colour me happy. I've had a lot of fun with this, in fact and am feeling a bit more love for Grass King again. Again, no word count today, but here's another snippet.
"She glanced across at him, said ‘I used to use a hatpin. But the lock on my old bedroom was a lot smaller than this one.’ In her hand was the small stiletto she kept in her bodice. She waved it at him. ‘I think this should do.’
‘But…’ Jehan said. And then ‘How?’ There was always something new with her. Something else to startle him.
She smiled, ignoring the but. ‘My uncle used to lock me in when I annoyed him. So I learnt how to let myself out. It was a lot safer than climbing down the ivy.’
‘Oh.’ His sisters would never have done such a thing. He thought they wouldn’t, anyway."
In other news, I have new kettle. And thus tea. And thus life is good.
And even better, the marquis comes home from Germany tonight: I shall be heading off to collect him in about an hour. And then tomorrow comes cleaning and looking at ch. 6 and packing and heading off to Herefordshire for my mother's birthday.
And then off to France on Sunday for a week's skiing. My life is full of go.
Skirt of the day: blue flouncey.
I'm thinking of starting a photographic record of the members of the skirt mountain. Possibly with cats. What do you guys think?