"...so by then everyone was covered in flour and poor Maudie, she was raised in a superstitious household, swore up and down to Father and everyone the place was haunted," she laughs on their walk of the grounds, cloaked, of course. The sun warms the air and the ground during the day, but at dusk, when night falls so soon after dinner still, winter can still be felt. But he likes to walk at this time and she likes watching her vapors swirl into the air. Silence normally does not bother her, but tonight, something is different, and she can't be sure what. Yes, she can, she blushes, those blasted books with the pictures must be what's to blame for a number of provocative dreams as of late. They should be making her feel awkward, elusive, but instead, she only feels a great barrier exists between them.
"You know," she adds. "I bet you have a thousand more stories than I do and I rarely get to hear any of them."
"You don't like hearing about deals."
"No, true, but..." She bites her lips and creases her forehead to the point she feels discomfort. "Wasn't there anything you did before?"
"I spun," he answers after several seconds with wistful eyes. "I think we should get in now, don't you, dearie? Don't want to catch a chill, do you?" She feels his hand on her back through her cloak, heating her so much the very notion of catching a chill is laughable.