" "That's my own concern," rejoined Sheppard. It was 1582. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. “Ungracious little beast, I call her. He moaned. Her eyes were soft and blue, arched over by dark brows, and fringed by long silken lashes. The last time Pottiswick had called out the militia on suspicion of intruders in Remenham House, a large rodent had been all the spoil.
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