The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion: Vol. 2

by Beth Brower

Once Young Hawkes’s Cambridge friends had been swiftly sent on their way, he gathered himself and began again, but not until after he had muttered loud enough for all to hear, “Anyone who thinks Potiphar’s wife was a good idea has proven himself to be of no sense whatsoever. They can have another attempt at Christianity next week.” I left feeling rather uplifted.

Having seen to my correspondence, I went downstairs to spend some time in thoughtful prayer while attempting to pick the lock to the library. My prayers went up in vain as the door did not budge. Perhaps I ought not to have laughed so much in church.

“I did not know how to swim.” He spread out his hands. “I recall you swimming wonderfully well once you had freed yourself. Then you flogged me with a willow branch.” “The survival instinct does wonders. Do you have a second?”

“If you were any of the other girls I know, I would warn you to be on your guard.” “Oh?” I asked, stopping. “But as I am not?” Then came Roland’s smile. “St. George is not the only one who can slay a dragon, Emma Lion. I’ve seen you wield a sword.” It was, perhaps, the most wonderful compliment I’ve ever been paid. I intend to keep Roland.