The stone in Mr. Riordan's pocket whispered to him. The witch should burn; her hair is already aflame. He knew better than to pay much attention to the stone. Things whispered to him all the time. It was a cheat and a snare. A trap of the devil, but her hair was like a flame. His hand ached with the vision of her hair. She'd burned him with that fire and lied to him. He should have fired her father and sent them far away. But that hair, that skin, even the fire of her lips as he kissed her. God would forgive him. God had forgiven him before and they weren't nearly as beautiful, as deadly.
At home his wife was waiting at the door as she was supposed to. She was a good woman, a godly woman, a boring woman. She hadn't borne him any sons, but people didn't understand the need for sons in this
