'Your beauty was the first that won the place,
And scal'd the walls of my undaunted heart,
Which, captive now, pines in a caitive case,
Unkindly met with rigour for desert;
Yet not the less your servant shall abide,
In spite of rude repulse or silent pride.'

WILLIAM FOWLER.

Songs for the chapter: The Factory- North&South soundtrack, Final Frontier- Thomas Bergersen, Briseis and Achilles - James Horner

As far as Margaret Hale was concerned, nothing had happened on the day of the failed raid. The poor workers had tried to show their dissatisfaction and desperation and the company owners had called the military on them and changed nothing. Yes, the crowd refused to disperse off itself and had been violent, the owners had been in their right to call the military but they wouldn't have needed to had they only paid them enough. Today had happened because of selfish men like Slickson. As for her own involvement, she had been dragged along by the crowd. Mr Thornton had offered her the protection of his boat and she in turn had offered him the protection her gender was supposed to offer her. They had merely been two acquaintances trying to protect each other, nothing more and nothing less.

She wondered though, why, if nothing had happened, she felt so agitated. She wondered whether the sentiment was disappointment as she had hoped that after months of visiting both rich and poor she had become something of a mediator between the two. But now that the moment had come for her to assume that role, she had instead become a victim of the animosity between the two.

She hadn't meant to take a side. No, she had simultaneously called on both sides to not fall prey to violence. She refused to see either party harmed. She protected both workers and Mr Thornton from their worst selves by preventing the workers acting on their anger. She would have done as much as she did for Thornton for any man as Thornton. Had the employees been the weak minority she wouldn't have hesitated to protect them either. Just as she had defended them during the dinners she'd had.

But if she hadn't taken a side and had done the right thing, why did she feel such acute shame and dread?

Like everyone confronted with an unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling, Margaret decided to rationalise with herself and analysed her events and feelings until she found a satisfactory explanation that didn't include the feeling she was running from.

'After she threw herself at him like that.'

'Quite scandalous.'

She thought back on the snippets of conversation she'd overheard between Fanny and the maid in the last thirty minutes of her stay at the Thornton residence.

Agitation turned into frustration. How dare they question her Christianity and morality? She had protected him out of the goodness of her heart and out of her Christian morality as taught by her father. What was it with people trying to turn a noble deed into some gossip tale about selfishness? She had, just like her brother, done a – perhaps too passionate– act for justice.

It angered her that she who had been trying to be humble all of her life, had now been accused of vanity by trying to showcase herself, and showing herself as a suitor. She would never abuse a moment of danger to showcase herself as some cunning suitor.

Her mind allowed her to admit that she had shown too much emotion, if she was being fair. It shamed her that she who had despised people for showing emotion, who had thought them wanting in self-control, had done it herself, like a romantic fool.

And she was no romantic fool. No, that she was most certainly not. She thought of him again. He had been like a statue, untouched by the pleas of the people. They had tried to break his stone façade and make him sympathize with their insecure lives. No, that was cruel and unfair. He did sympathize, he allowed them a great deal of authority in their own lives where she wished for more of a guiding hand. He tried to pay them as well as he could, he wanted to keep them alive as long as possible, he knew their suffering. He was better than most, yet she couldn't help but feel like more could be done. She had never known what to make of him. She was sure she despised him in the beginning, but had since then had to backtrack on her earliest statements about him. She had to admit she was interested in his resolution and power and he wasn't unpleasant. But to pursue him? No, that couldn't be.

They rivalled. It was her moral tenacity against his commanding energy of a man of iron. It was her upbringing as a lady against his years of rough labour. He was poorly suited for society, the only society he thrived in being a society of likeminded people. She was very educated, and he had barely had any schooling. She had never put much thought in what kind of marriage she wanted, but she wouldn't have minded someone like papa. Mild-mannered, allowing her freedom, valuing her opinion and offering stimulating intellectual conversation every day. Most London men had artificial characters, putting on different masks depending on the social setting, but they had at least offered a broad variety of topics. Liverpool conversation was always the same, and the men didn't seem to tire of it. She couldn't imagine spending the next forty years of her life discussing nothing but economy. She couldn't imagine being the wife of a tradesman, and daughter to the fierce woman called Hannah Thornton.

It would also mean that she would have to stop visiting the employees of the companies. She would have to stop bringing baskets. She thought of Hannah Thornton, who, had she been born a man, would have been destined for greatness. But instead the woman was confined to a domestic life in which she had to suffer the consequences of whatever the males in her life decided. A life of worrying about cutlery, household accounts and children. It all seemed quite suffocating. At least Edith had the freedom to do as she pleased. She could sleep the day away, or she could occupy herself in a multitude of ways. She could walk through beautiful parks, visit interesting people, see opera's, listen to piano, read, go to the theatre, answer letters or… The possibilities were endless.

Margaret had always loved having some free time. In Helstone she loved walking through the woods, painting and visiting the less fortunate. She loved making a change and helping others. Would Mr Thornton ever understand the part of her that no one but she and her father understood? The part of her which longed for a space for herself in a most unconventional way which goes against the secluded sphere women are usually contained in?

She doubted it. He wasn't an attractive suitor in her eyes, and she very much doubted she was an ideal suitor in his eyes. Young, outspoken, ignorant in the matters he cared most about, in reduced circumstances, defiant… All while lacking in looks to compensate for all those shortcomings. She was curious why anyone thought the match plausible, let alone appealing to either party. The insinuations said more about the people engaging in gossip than it said anything about her and Mr. Thornton.

It was silly and Margaret refused to think more of it. She was tired and it had been a long day.

Everything was fine. Nothing had happened. Tonight, she would go to bed and tomorrow would be another day like nothing had changed.

X.X.X

Margaret Hale was wrong.

When she woke up, she refused to dress up in a special way, and planned her day like nothing would happen. She feared that if she did, it would make the possibility of something happening today more real. So she was in no way prepared when Dixon came into her room to tell her Mr Thornton was in the drawing room.

'Mr. Thornton, Miss Margaret. He is in the drawing room.' Margaret dropped her pen which she was using to write a letter to Edith.

'Did he ask for me? Isn't papa come in?'

'He asked for you, miss; and master is out.'

'Very well, I will come,' said Margaret, quietly.

She was dressed in a thin white dress with short sleeves and her hair was already escaping her quickly made bun. She had allowed herself to heat up her room for once, and now felt terribly unprepared to face Mr Thornton. She wished for long-sleeved dark dress with thick fabric. Something that looked cold and strong. But there was no time to change dress now. Her Indian shawl would have to do. She also piled on some of her jewellery. She was never ornamental, but somehow wearing her most expensive possessions made her feel more armed and equal to Mr Thornton. Why she needed to feel wealthy and unreachable, she couldn't explain, as she still tried to supress her suspicions about his reasons for coming to her house.

While walking down the stairs, she was determined to appear bothered. He had no reason to come and she had a lot to do. Besides, her mother was still ill. She hoped he would get the hint and soon take his leave.

Before entering, she took one last breath, a deep one, like one might take before diving under water for a prolonged period of time.

X.X.X

Everyone who knew John Thornton would admit that he often appeared restless and impatient. He was pure energy contained within a human body, and from time to time that energy seemed to fight its constraints. His fingers would tap on his legs, his gaze would jump to every object to look for a new purpose, his hands clenched and unclenched at random, his foot would tap the floor if he had to listen to an unimportant conversation as his mind thought of ways he could better spend his time, yes he was certainly restless.

His energy and power had always been intimidating to Margaret, though she refused to let it daunt her. She had become used to his manners, but she had never before seen him in this state. Now his whole body emanated raw power and unhinged energy. His tall dark form was too large and broody for the tiny pastel coloured living room. He seemed horribly out of place in the domestic setting.

Her heartbeat sped up like crazy. This was their problem, she thought. They were unmatched in temper and opinion, and the difference made her unsure of how she had to deal with him, leading to a speedy heartbeat. But John Thornton had quite a different interpretation of his own quickened heartbeat.

His heart beat thick at the thought of her coming. But it wasn't out of uncertainty or nervousness at the prospect of interacting with someone so different. He had always known she was very different, and those differences had both enticed and frustrated him, but they were a part of her and he couldn't help but accept them, just like he had to simply accept his love for her. Differences didn't daunt him, they excited him. She was so educated, so moral. She'd had a cultural education he could only dream of. True, she was idealistic and unrealistic and he lived in a state of fear that any opinion leaving his mouth could dismay her moral judgement but he could only look forward to meeting her.

He could not forget the touch of her arms around his neck, impatiently felt as it had been at the time; but now the recollection of her clinging defence of him, seemed to thrill him through and through. It was amazing how just one touch of her could melt away every resolution, all power of self-control, as if it were wax before a fire.

His mind couldn't help but construct visions of him going forward to meet her, with his arms held out in mute entreaty and that she would come and nestle there, as she had done, all unheeded, the day before. His heart throbbed loud and quick. He couldn't help but tremble at the anticipation of what he had to say, and how it might be received. One moment, he glowed with impatience at the thought that she might accept him, the next, he feared a passionate rejection, the very idea of which withered up his future with so deadly a blight that he refused to think of it.

He didn't even notice her arrival and the time of announcing her presence had passed, making her feel like an awkward onlooker of a private moment. She didn't know how she should draw his attention, so she just reopened the door again and shut it harshly.

'Mr Thornton?'

He turned around. There she was, his empress dressed in her robes and finery. The white of her dress was set off against the bright dark blue and yellow of her shawl. And the dark curls tumbling from her hairdo made the white of her skin and red of her lips stand out. She was perfect in her contrasts, and looked ever as lovely and soft instead of her usual unbothered distant self. It was as if a part of her armour had disappeared, and he hoped it was because he was allowed closer from now on. He was curious about the part of her which she hid from the outside world.

'Miss Hale, I was very ungrateful yesterday-'

He was going to talk of yesterday, Margaret realized with dread. But he was wrong! Why didn't he see that nothing special had happened?

'You have nothing to be grateful for. You mean, I suppose, that you believe you ought to thank me for what I did. It was only a natural instinct. Any woman would have done just the same. We all feel the sanctity of our sex as a high privilege when we see danger. I ought rather apologise to you, for having said thoughtless words which sent you forward into the danger.'

'It was not your words; it was the truth they conveyed that urged me to address the workers. And it was a good and well-intended advice. You're a smart woman Miss Hale, and though you couldn't have foreseen the possible danger I exposed myself to as you are not as familiar with trade and business, it was a solid advice. Had I not believed that what you advised could have worked out, I wouldn't have done what I did. But you shall not drive me away from my purpose, and so escape the expression of my deep gratitude, my-' he was on the verge now; he would not speak in the haste of his hot passion.

This was her nightmare. He wasn't only grateful that she saved him, he was even grateful for her ill thought through advice. She couldn't escape his expression of gratitude. It infuriated and frightened her. How dare he force her to listen? How dare he ignore her wishes should she ever find the power to vocalize them? Why wouldn't he see her trembling form and realize that she couldn't deal with whatever he had to say. She doubted that he would express his gratitude in a way she could accept.

Her body registered a sensation not unfamiliar to the sensation of falling. He stepped closer still, and she felt ever so small and powerless. Her stomach felt uneasy, her heart hammered in her chest, even her breathing felt constricted.

'I do not want to be relieved from any obligation, I choose to believe that I owe my very life to you, ay, smile, and think it an exaggeration if you will. I believe it, because it adds a value to that life to think. Oh, Miss Hale! To think that whenever I experience something good from now on, I may think "All this gladness in life, all honest pride in doing my work in the world, all this keen sense of being, I owe to her!" It doubles my gladness, it makes the pride glow, it sharpens my sense of existence till I hardly know if it is pain or pleasure, to think that I owe it to one. I am not only here to convey my thanks to you' continued he, lowering his voice to such a tender intensity of passion that she shivered and trembled before him.

He was too close now, and all his intensity was aimed directly towards her. He was heading somewhere, at a neck breaking speed, and she couldn't stop him. She was powerless, voiceless and astounded. Margaret shook her head. It frightened her, the intensity with which he spoke. Bestowing such unearned gratitude on her and speaking with such frank emotion that she didn't know how to respond. Never had she heard of pain and pleasure in one sentences, as two feelings rivalling and feeling alike. She was out of her depth, too inexperienced in life and love to understand his feelings, or to receive them. It didn't click in her mind. It didn't connect with anything she knew.

'I came because I- forgive me, I've never found myself in this position before. I have difficulty finding the words. Miss Hale, my feelings for you are very strong. To one whom I love, as I do not believe man ever loved woman before.'

He took her hand and held it tight in his. He panted as he listened for what should come.

Her cold hand stopped trembling, and her heartbeat slowed. Yet at the same time her vision grew blurry and all sound appeared to dull. She could hear the thud of her heartbeat in her ears. She couldn't tear her eyes away from their joined hands. Joined like her parents joined hands in church while listening to a sermon here in Liverpool. His hands were warm and big, enveloping her tiny hand almost completely. His hands were darker than hers, faint scars running along them. Not the hands of a scholar.

Her stomach twisted. This didn't quite feel like fear anymore, but the fear was still present in her head, telling her not to look up to his face or else-

Or else what? She didn't understand her body. It knew things her waking mind didn't. She knew this was not a position acquaintances found themselves in. This wasn't an approved proximity. This- this was dangerous. He had no right to touch her! But she didn't pull away. Why didn't she pull away?

His words registered in her head minutes after he had spoken them.

Love? Love?

She thought of her parents, whose love was like a balm, gentle and ever present. She'd seen Mrs Thornton's love of her son: he was her son and pride, something she seemed to possess.

Love was what had made her mother lose her beloved London life, what filled Edith with empty chatter while she wasn't a bright star to begin with, what made Mrs Thornton possessive, made Miss Latimer silly and what made Mrs Shaw snobbish because her husband had made her rich. And then there was poor Mary, who had become so sad because she had given her heart to someone which gave that person the ability to break it with nothing more than a single action.

Love between a child and its parents, or between people and God was pure. It strengthened, healed, empowered. Love for the other sex seemed to highlight the worst in people. She hadn't noticed that Mr Thornton treated her differently than any other young lady. It was hard for her to imagine that had the power to reign over his emotions, like the (prospective) husbands had over the women she knew. It frightened her, she didn't want that power. She had never been able to define what her relationship with Mr Thornton was, but it wasn't like any other example of love she had seen.

Yet-

"Oh, seeing him in that suit makes my heart stutter, Margaret. It could simply soar!" She remembered Edith saying.

"Oh, when we first met each other, I was so focussed on trying to control my shaking hands I could barely get a word over my lips," Mary had once told her in private.

"I wish you would all meet this family! They're all so pleasant and friendly. Miss Carmen is so educated and smart, she almost reminds me of Margaret with her sharp eyes shewing a high education. She's so much of everything- giving, smart, kind, thoughtful. I knew so much about her already before I ever met her. The knowledge combined with her beauty made it almost impossible for me to speak! My body was most definitely being silly, she had done nothing particular to evoke that kind of reaction. Silly nerves! I assume I didn't want to make a fool of myself in front of the sister of my business partners!" That was what Frederick had written in his last letter.

Restless behaviour, a wild heartbeat, shaking hands… These were things she had heard of – even felt herself. But it couldn't be love. After all, she liked him and he didn't seem to loathe her but that was it. They disagreed on everything.

"One needn't be handsome to be attractive, Margaret love. But you don't understand that yet, I can see the confusion in your eyes. You talk of love as if it is a chore one has to do, dear girl, but the thing is… Loving isn't a thing you can do, it just happens. Your mind and body will know before you are even aware of it, despite their character and despite their looks."

Could it actually be? Had she interpreted everything about their interactions all wrong? Was it possible? It was unbelievable that she would be so sorely mistaken. But – surely, Mr Thornton knew what he felt. He seemed quite determined. But- Was love really what he felt? He mentioned loving her, but his behaviour never indicated it, and everything before his declaration of love was about how he felt the need to repay her for her actions. She got an inkling that he was going to propose in an attempt to repay her because he felt he owed her. And engaged people were supposed to be in love. It was not impossible that he proposed out of gratefulness but wanted her to believe that there were emotions behind it too, so that it wouldn't appear to be the business deal he intended it to be.

But she was getting ahead of herself by thinking about what he felt and what he meant. The most important thing right now was that a proclamation of love and an acceptation of that love indicated the start of an engagement. An engagement meant an impending marriage. And marriage meant moving away, away from her family who so sorely needed her.

In that instant she decided that it didn't matter what he claimed to feel. Nor did it matter what she felt. The whole question of whether he or she felt love and if it was reciprocated didn't matter because marriage was out of the question. She had a duty to her parents which came first, and he knew that!

Yet he came, and made her doubt her feelings and judgement. He came, knowing of her mothers poor health yet he declared his love which insinuated that should she accept that love, she was to move out. It was cruel.

So there was only one answer she could give. She was to stay at home. Mr Thornton wouldn't take an ordinary no for an answer, he was in trade, he bartered. He needed reasons. Reasons she couldn't just give like that. Because then he would assume that she loved him and was only held back by her parents. He wouldn't accept defeat. He would keep on searching for a solution which she didn't want. She wished everyone could just leave her and her parents alone. So she would have to hurt him where it hurt the most, until he fully believed that a marriage to her was out of the question. Yes. That was it.

'Please stop and don't continue. I didn't give you permission to speak yet you pressed on, it is not the way of a gentleman. I explicitly told you that you that I would have done the same for every man, yet you continued to make this about you and your desire to repay me for a service I don't need thanking for. It is quite insulting, I'm sorry but I simply cannot help but experiencing it that way. I did what I did out of Christianity and the good nature of my heart, not out of selfish desire or a wish to endear myself to you. Besides, we must speak gently, for mamma is asleep; but your whole manner is quite insulting. You seem to fancy that my conduct of yesterday was a personal act between you and me; and that you may come and thank me for it, instead of perceiving, as a gentleman would-yes! A gentleman, that any woman, worthy of the name of woman, would come forward to shield, with her reverenced helplessness, a man in danger from the violence of numbers. And now you speak as if it is your duty to repay me, as if my actions are some kind of business transaction you want to even out. I suppose I suppose I should expect nothing else from someone in trade.'

He threw the hand away with indignation, as he heard her assuming her indifferent even though her words were accompanied by stuttering.

She realized how much of a lie that was, despite being truthful about being willing to do the same for other men, the moment it left her mouth. But she couldn't dwell on why her words felt like a lie.

She only knew that she regretted her words as she spoke them and saw how they hit their mark. A cold feeling wrapped itself around her heart as his warm hands dropped her hand. She knew he would be upset, she could hardly insult him more. She knew how sensitive he was about his status. Despite his pride in his business, he was very insecure about how he was perceived.

'And the gentleman thus rescued is forbidden the relief of thanks!' he broke in contemptuously. 'I know that in your eyes at least, I am no gentleman But I am a man. I claim the right of expressing my feelings.'

'And I yielded to the right, you expressed your feelings.'

'I spoke to you about my feelings not because I love you, I had no thought about some kind of repayment. I don't wish for some kind of transaction, I don't wish to be 'even', I wish to marry you because I love you.'

And out went Margaret's belief that he proposed and expressed love because of a feeling of debt. But he continued before she could even begin to think about what that meant.

He took a step forward, as if meaning to show her what he felt. Her heartbeat quickened, and her breath halted in her throat. But then changed his mind and turned away from her and she was left feeling cold, but able to breathe. She barely understood her bodily reactions anymore. She was scared when he came closer, but sad when he distanced himself.

'You may speak on, Miss Hale. I now believe that it was only your innate sense of oppression that made you act so nobly as you did. I know you despise me. Allow me to say, it is because you do not understand me.'

No, no, no.

She shook her head but he didn't see. But what could she say? It wasn't just her sense of oppression. She didn't despise him. She did understand him, or at least a part of him. She understood his character, but not his feelings.

Could she say that? He might interpret it as an admittance of love if she told him that she liked him as a person and that her probably helping any man didn't mean she didn't care for him. She couldn't say it. She didn't understand her feelings enough to speak of them.

'No, I see you do not. You are unfair and unjust', he decided without looking back at her.

But, for all his savage words, he could have thrown himself at her feet, and kissed the hem of her wounded pride. But Margaret didn't know that. She was fully convinced he now hated her, and thought the feeling mutual.

He took up his hat.

'One word more. You look as if you thought it tainted you to be loved by me. You cannot avoid it. Nay, I, if I would, cannot cleanse you from it. But I would not, if I could. I have never loved any woman before: my life has been too busy, my thoughts too much absorbed with other things. Now I love, and will love. But do not be afraid of too much expression on my part.'

'I am not afraid,' she replied, lifting herself straight up.

She wanted to say so much more, but she couldn't. The whole conversation had been such a disaster she wouldn't even know what to begin to address. As he took a hold of the door she thought of her father, who was to arrive home around this time.

'But, Mr. Thornton, you have been very kind to my father. Don't let us go on making each other angry and our interactions uncomfortable. Pray don't!'

Rejecting her offered hand, and making as if he did not see her grave look of regret, he turned abruptly away, and left the room. Margaret caught one glance at his face before he went.

When he was gone, she thought she had seen the gleam of washed tears in his eyes.

She had done it. She had refused Mr Thornton's offer of marriage at the cost of absolutely mortifying his pride and destroying any amiable bond there was between them.

She sank to the ground, tears forming in her own eyes as everything that had transpired finally hit her.

Mr Thornton had asked her to marry him and she had refused him.

Mr Thornton loved her, and there had been no other reason for his proposal. It didn't at all feel like Henry's proposal, he'd been hurt but not as affected as Mr Thornton. She and Mr Lennox had been set up together multiple times, they had an established friendship, and she knew everyone wanted them to marry. But Henry was a London man, he had control over his emotions, and was much more temperate with his emotions. The men in Liverpool were a good deal more intense and a great deal more honest, she'd known that, yet she had doubted the honesty of Mr Thornton's declaration of love, despite that he had shown incredible honesty to her before.

'But what was I to do? I couldn't accept his offer. I had to say no.'
She buried her face in her hands as she wept. Nothing would have softened the blow of a rejection if he loved her, and she had to reject him in the most clear terms.

He was hurt. She'd caused him pain by rejecting him, and had wounded his pride and insulted his character while doing it.

And unfortunately for her, she had only come to understand that her feelings about him might not be fear, but romantic affection, a sentiment she had never experienced before. But nothing was to be done, their course had been set by that point in the conversation. The realization that he loved her and she might actually like him couldn't have changed her answer. Though, hadn't her mother urged her to marry? Yes she had! Because if she didn't marry by the time her mother and father died, she would be reduced to a penniless orphan. This was already the second good proposal she'd rejected, she doubted she'd be as lucky as to receive a third.

She gasped for breath and let herself fall to the floor.

'I'm so stupid. But what was I to do? I panicked. I just did what I thought best.'

She could only comfort herself that she could now keep the freedom she had under her father, and take care of her parents. Even if it had cost her her chance of a future.

Whew, that was one chapter! I took a week off after finishing my thesis, because my hand simply ached too much!

This took me such a long time to write, it was very difficult to convey what I wanted to.

It's already quite a long chapter so I'll keep my bigger notes for the next chapter, now as to some short ones

1) Yes I mixed some of the N&S miniseries with some dialogue the book. I think they both had some good pieces and bad pieces.

2) The proposal is very drawn out because this is a very big turning point for our Margaret. She never could figure out what was between her and John but this conversation shattered many of her convictions and made her realize quite a lot of things.

3) the songs for this chapter:

The factory: Margaret thinking about everything that happened during the day. Its beginning is quite soft, reminding me of Margaret still being in a daze, but it ends louder reflecting how Margaret is decided and clear.

Final Frontier: This is more upbeat. I picked it because it is filled with a sense of anticipation. I get a feel that we're heading somewhere. The song most reverberates with the next piece: "Her heartbeat sped up like crazy. This was their problem, she thought. They were unmatched in temper and opinion, and the difference made her unsure of how she had to deal with him, leading to a speedy heartbeat. But John Thornton had quite a different interpretation of his own quickened heartbeat. His heart beat thick at the thought of her coming. But it wasn't out of uncertainty or nervousness at the prospect of interacting with someone so different. He had always known she was very different, and those differences had both enticed and frustrated him, but they were a part of her and he couldn't help but accept them, just like he had to simply accept his love for her. Differences didn't daunt him, they excited him. "

Briseis and Achilles: This is fitting for their entire conversation. Until the ending, there's quite a soft melody on the foreground. Margaret's mind is split into two as well. The first part wonders about and interprets and realizes things about her relationship with Mr Thornton. The melody feels exotic, slow and romantic in the beginning. She's still physically overwhelmed by being confronted with him and the words he says. She wonders about why Thornton could be saying what he says, and reflects on what love is supposed to mean.

Then around 2min10sec the melody changes and turns sad. She knows there can't be anything and Mr Thornton is going at a speed she can't keep up with. She realizes she has to hurt him to chase him away. At 3.30 the music turns dark, with an even more ominous noise in the back. Margaret knows she has no choice but reject him and it becomes clear that this conversation is set up for disaster from the get-go. When the ominous melody finally comes to the foreground she's saying those words she can't take back. It sounds epic and tragic, the scene is unfolding in front of Margaret's eyes and she can only watch the horrific reality unfold as Thornton gives his last few remarks and leaves. The last note is drawn out, like Margaret who is left behind. The music has stopped but she is clearly not 'done'.

4) Your reactions: thank you for the kind comments, and rest assured anon, I will not quit this story. I'm quite dedicated.

5) Well, what are your opinions about this chapter? Are you excited? Did you expect this turn of events?Please be so kind to leave a comment, a favorite or subscribe. It means the world to me 3