“But I had very much hoped to marry a friend.” “A friend,” he said, slowly, as if it were a foreign word eluding a confident pronunciation. His Scottish brogue was showing, too. She half turned away to look out over the rooftops of London. “Yes, a friend,” she said thickly. “I wished for a husband who shares his time with me, who would enjoy inhabiting our own small world, which we alone created. And he would be kind.”
