Mary read aloud from A Tale of Two Cities, her nose between the pages: "'When he was left alone, this strange being took up a candle, went to a glass that hung against the wall, and surveyed himself minutely in it.'" She and Arthur were sitting in the shade of a large oak tree that grew solitary in the midst of a field.

She continued reading as Arthur listened. "'"Do you particularly like the man?" he muttered, at his own image; "why should you particularly like a man who resembles you? There is nothing in you to like; you know that. Ah, confound you! What a change you have made in yourself! A good reason for taking to a man, that he shows you what you have fallen away from, and what you might have been! Change places with him, and would you have been looked at by those blue eyes as he was, and commiserated by that agitated face as he was? Come on, and have it out in plain words! You hate the fellow."'"

"This poor guy's gotta grow a pair and go out and get that gal," Arthur interrupted.

Mary's eyebrows shot up as she looked at him. "H-how could you possibly know that? We haven't gotten there yet," she said, choosing to disregard his coarse reference.

He looked her square in the face. "There are only so many reasons to hate a man, Mary," he said as he began to count, starting with his thumb. "He killed your girl, he stole your girl, or he stole your money." He leaned back as he said confidently, "It usually branches off of one of those three. Now she ain't nobody's girl yet, but you take my meaning. It's pretty clear she's intended for the other guy, and this one hates his guts for it because he loves her."

Mary blinked. "It's a little more complicated than that, but yes, that's one of the main issues in this scene."

He smirked at her. "See? Whoever said we gruff outlaws couldn't reason through the great works of literature."

"I never doubted you, remember that," she smiled.

"Sure! Only were surprised," he mocked.

"No! I just…well, I guess I can say I'm impressed you caught on to this line of the plot so early."

He smiled. "Keep going. I like this character Carton. He's a biting, sarcastic fool."

"Well, I think it's your turn to read," she said passing him the book.

"All right," he said confidently as he took it.

Arthur and Mary continued reading, taking turns back and forth. The two had arrived there at dawn, along with Arthur's horse, who was grazing lazily beside the tree. Every once in a while they would switch positions to keep comfortable, though Arthur usually adopted a reclining position when he wasn't reading.

When it was Mary's turn once again to read, she began to perform different voices for each character.

"'"I am going to make an offer of myself in marriage to your agreeable little friend, Miss Manette, Mr. Lorry,"'" Mary read as she lied with her head resting on Arthur's torso. Arthur was reclining with his hands cradling the back of his head. "'"Oh dear me!"' cried Mr. Lorry, rubbing his chin, and looking at his visitor dubiously. "Oh dear me, sir?" repeated Stryver, drawing back. "Oh dear you, sir? What may your meaning be, Mr. Lorry?"'"

Mary felt Arthur's stomach tighten and bobble and heard him quietly snicker as she went on. "'"Well! I–Were you going there now?" asked Mr. Lorry. "Straight!" said Stryver, with a plump of his fist on the desk. "Then I think I wouldn't, if I was you." "Why?" said Stryver... "Because," said Mr. Lorry, "I wouldn't go on such an object without having some cause to believe that I should succeed." "Damn ME!" cried Stryver."'"

Arthur's stomach roiled now, as he succumbed to his hearty, rolling laughter. Mary sat up and looked at him with a smile.

"I imagine this guy is a fat, pompous ass," Arthur laughed.

"He's the same in my imagination," Mary said.

Arthur cackled, "I never thought I'd hear you utter a curse word, Mary!"

Mary smiled and tried not to go red. "Stryver said it," she said sheepishly.

He looked at her with bright eyes, taking in the flush that spread over her face and the pleasant smile that accompanied it.

"Your turn," she said, handing him the book.

"Oh, none could compare to your knack for theatrics, madame," he said holding up a hand.

"Take the damn book, Arthur!" she said, and he burst out into raucous laughter again.

They continued taking turns reading. At one point when Mary had the book, she was lying on her stomach, propping herself up on her forearms, with her bare feet swaying up in the air behind her. It distracted Arthur, and he began to stroke the soles of her feet and play with her toes.

"Arthur!" she said, lightly kicking him away.

"Mary…" he said softly, and went to kiss her.

"Don't…" she said trying not to giggle, "don't say my name like that, Arthur. It's dangerous."

"I ain't sayin' it no particular way!" he said conspicuously. "That's your name, ain't it?"

"You know what you're doing, Arthur," she said leveling her gaze at him.

He sat back against the tree and folded his arms.

They continued reading into the afternoon, enjoying the book and the company. Finally, Arthur read the final line of the novel. He read slowly, allowing the gravity of the moment to sink in: "'"It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."'"

Arthur stared at the page.

Mary sniffed, wiping tears from her eyes. "Greater love has no man, that he lays down his life for his friend," Mary said shakily and sighed. "I can never get over that ending.

"Didn't know the old boy had it in him," Arthur said soberly.

Arthur closed the back cover of the book with a plop, and Mary noticed he had a thin rim of glistening tears edging their way to the surface under his eyes. She came over to sit next to him and rested her head on his shoulder. "You've officially read a 'full book'," she said. "How do you feel?"

"Wretched," he said immediately, and they chuckled in spite of themselves. He looked over at her on his shoulder and said quietly, "Thank you."

She brought her hand to his right cheek as she kissed his left, and they leaned back against the tree.

Arthur looked down into his lap, and she followed his gaze to see he was holding a ring between his fingers. She hadn't even noticed him go into his pocket. It was a thin gold band with a small garnet adorning it.

"This was my mother's. Little good it ever did her, bless her. But…maybe it'll be good luck for you and me," he said. He slid it onto her ring finger and laced his fingers through hers.

"Oh, Arthur…" she said and threw her arms around him. She felt him hold her tight and nestle his chin over the crook in her shoulder. Drawing back, she kissed him passionately on the lips, bringing her fingers through his hair. She felt him deepen the kiss, lowering her onto her back.

Suddenly, he bolted upright. "Wait a damn minute…" he said. "You're not bein' fair with me. You can't expect me to hold firm to your boundaries when you keep toyin' with 'em. I object; it's cruel! I thought I was doing pretty well too, what with you lying so close to me and all. But I can't do so well if you keep temptin' me," he said with a wry smile.

Mary was stunned, at both her failure to hold fast to her own commitment and Arthur's ability to so clearly articulate himself. "I s'pose you're right," she said. "I apologize."

"Never thought you'd be the one to be more of a problem," he grumbled jokingly.

"I truly didn't mean to put you in a precarious position, Arthur. I just…I get carried away," she said.

When he saw her downcast expression, he said, "Ah, don't worry. I know it's hard for us both." He muttered under his breath, "Just means we should probably get married sooner rather than later."

She yawned and said, "How about a nice, chaste nap?"

"That sounds nice. If you can keep it that way."

She came to lie beside him as he stretched his arm out to act as her pillow.

They awoke in late afternoon to the sound of birds warbling in the branches above them.

"We oughta get back," he said getting up and going to his horse. "Wish I could ride you home."

She nodded, knowing it was for the best that she walk.

As he began to get on his horse, he caught a glimpse of her relaxed smile underneath strands of her unkempt hair—still beautiful in the orange light of the summer sun. He knew the feel of her lips, but wanted reminding. He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her once, briefly.

He rested his forehead on hers, soaking in the nearness of her. "I cannot wait to be married to you," he said. He drew back and looked into her eyes. "I want to kiss every inch of you. Every inch."

After a moment, her eyes went wide. She gasped and swatted him. "Arthur!"

He chuckled and lighted his horse. Looking back to see her smile as he rode off, he said, "Every inch. That's a promise!"