“More than a modicum, then.” Emma considered. “How much is a modicum, anyway?” “Somewhere between a soupçon and a whit, I imagine.” “Then I want an ounce.” “An ounce?” “Two ounces. Actually, no. I should like a full pint of respect.” He shook his head. “Now you’re just being greedy.” “Greedy? I realize I may not be as captivating as a shuttlecock or a decanter of brandy, but I am your wife. The woman who is to be the mother of your child.”
