‘Well,’ he said, as if commenting on the weather or the number of horses waiting to be shod and house- and shop-fittings to be cut and ploughshares to be mended, ‘it happens I’m in love with you. Have been since that day Rowland and Peony met. No, before that. That’s just the day I knew it. Not having been in love before – and old enough to have long since decided it wasn’t going to happen – I didn’t recognize the signs.’
