She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. ’ I don’t know what you’d call it —a sort of witchery, almost suggestiveness. I can’t rest or work or settle down to anything while things are like this between you and me. To-morrow we'll raise our first island. For all her begging she had been given the choice to go into the nunnery and “learn how to read scrolls with the rest of God’s Spinsters” by her father, but had quickly lost interest when presented with the idea of bearing babies. Slowly Prudence Sindlesham nodded her head, her eyes never leaving his face.
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