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For a few heavy heartbeats Geoffrey and Joanna leaned at the window. Then, softly, Geoffrey asked, "When did it last rain here, Joanna? How long has it been hot?" |
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"It was hot when I came. At Roselynde we were giving thanks that the harvest was so well advanced. You remember, after it turned so mild in March, it stayed warm. But there has been rain in plenty, Geoffrey, onlyonly not very recently. Two days after I came it rained." |
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"No, it was short, but very hard." |
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She could not see his face in the dark, but there was no mistaking the anxiety in his voice. "You think of crops, Joanna. For the broken earth of a tilled field, rain is rain. It soaks into the earth and that is good. For the hard-packed ways of a town and the old walls of houses, it is different. If the rain is not slow and easy, falling for many hours, it only runs away to the river. It does not wet the wood. When did it rain as I said?" |
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Joanna shook her head, then realized he could not see her. "Not since I have come, that is nigh two weeks." She drew a deep breath as if to steady herself. "But it is on the other side of the river, Geoffrey. It will do us no harm." |
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"Likely true," Geoffrey agreed. He looked up at the sky but could see nothing. "Still, I do not like that wind. I will ride out, I think, and see where the fire is." |
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Fear leapt up and fastened teeth in Joanna's throat. Fire was always a fearful thing, but in London where the houses were all built of wood and all packed close together so that sparks could leap from one to the other, it was a ravening beast to be fled in haste. There was little chance of fighting |
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