Gerald had been confident that the boy would not dream of disobeying an order thrown at him by a major of militia, but he guessed Jack might be wondering if he was about to be haled off to prison. Was it a week ago? No, perhaps more. He wondered if the young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragic lottery called marriage. “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. Anna herself opened the hall door. A deadlock. I don’t want to tear at you with hot, rough hands. In the middle of the little town stood the shop of a Jew dealer in old clothes.
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