Her gown was minimalist compared to those concoctions of boning and lace of long ago, she reflected, but that did not stop it from getting caught on 134 brambles and twigs. A moment afterwards, the door was closed and bolted, and the carpenter found himself alone. Bête, she told herself fiercely. ‘There is Bernadette, Marie-Thérèse, Marie-Joséphine, Marie-Claire, Henriette—’ Exasperated, Gerald seized her by the shoulders. It may bring us together again. The boy was bright and inquisitive as he was subtle.
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