‘You shine,’ he said quietly. ‘Even when I first saw you. Even when I knew you hated me. There is something about you, Etta. Something in you that cannot be quenched, by hardship or ill treatment. Your soul gleams like silver beneath a patina of hard use. He is right to love you. Any man would love you.’ Her eyes widened at his words. She turned aside from him, and unbelievably, a blush touched her wind-burnt cheeks. ‘I am Kennit’s,’ she reminded him. She spoke the words proudly. ‘I know,’ Wintrow said. Very softly, only to himself, he added, ‘I envy the man.’
