Explore "Simon the Coldheart" by Georgette Heyer on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Barehead he walked slowly through the garden that surrounded the castle, and the pale sunlight played about his fair hair, while the wind stirred it gently and blew it across his face. His sword hung at his side, but his hands were clasped listlessly behind him, and he bent his head, deep in thought.
It was four days since his talk with Margaret in the gallery and nothing further had passed between them since then. In two more days he would be gone from Belrémy, and for the first time in his life he was worried.