like that. But of course it was impossible. She was playing a game with him, teasing him, as women were wont to do with men.
Her huge real hand came up to her bosom. Earle quailed. Had he taken the image too far, and she was now going to take him out of her pocket and throw him away?
But her hand only touched him, her fingers squeezing him ever so gently in the pocket, then relaxing. It was reassurance, not censure. She liked the image-game.
He put away his dulcimer and wrapped his arms around her forefinger and hugged it. Her hand remained, resting on her breast, no weight on him. She did not object.
Earle had hardly dared believe before, but now he began to. Kara was lonely, as he was, so was willing to play a game with images that she would never have done in reality. Yet how far wo
