Chapter 21
But at the other end of the room, she found an excellent choice of literature. All major English authors with whom she was familiar. And even some foreign writers and poets of recent fame. No doubt Sarah’s doing. Her fingers skimmed over the spines on one of the shelves until they stopped on a slim volume with Schiller’s name on it. She pulled it out and read the title. A play she didn’t know. The long, plump sofa was right behind her, and Letitia sank into its overstuffed cushion, open book in one hand. The rain still pelted the windows, and the darkness of the day did not make reading easy. She could light the candles, but getting up seemed like an enormous effort. With the toes of each foot, she slid off her slippers and shifted to stretch her legs on the seat. Leaning comfor
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