By Edward Winter
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Sample text
This is our chance, our opportunity; the only opportunity we're ever likely to have. All right, so I know I've got no love for this place, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't like to see it restored to what it was. Just think what we could do! ' Rafe's lips tightened. 'We need the money—I'm not denying it. But… I don't know…' 'Rafe, Rafe…' She sensed his weakening, and came to stand near him. 'I know how you feel. But really, you mustn't confuse compassion with sentiment. Do you think any of these people—these people that you consider of such account—would hesitate, given your opportunities?
Rafe felt his jaw clenching angrily, and then was reminded of his position once more as Sir George remarked: 'Capital house you've got here, Glyndower. This panelling—magnificent! Seventeenth century, isn't it? ' 'It's early eighteenth, actually,' replied Rafe absently, his mind still buzzing with the implications of his son's arrival. ' 'Is that so? Fascinating, fascinating…' Sir George was clearly disarmed by his surroundings, and while he and John Norman shed their sheepskin jackets, Rafe had a swift exchange of words with the butler.
I'm not going to bring that up again. ' Catherine looked down into her glass.