And this was one of those times; this Saturday morning, as she looked out from the kitchen where she was preparing the dinner to where she could see Fletcher working absorbedly, cleaning out the hutches, feeding the animals, and grooming his two favourite Angoras for the afternoon’s show in Cressley. She was a passionate woman who clung single-mindedly to what was hers, and was prepared to defend her rights with vigour. While courting Fletcher she had drawn blood on an erstwhile rival who had threatened to reassert her claims. Since then she had had worse things to contend with. Always, it seemed to her, there was something between her and her rightful possession of Fletcher. At the moment it was the rabbits. The big shed had been full of hutches at one time, but now Fletcher concentrated his attention on a handful of animals in which he had a steady faith. But there were still too many for Mrs Fletcher, who resented sharing him with anything or anybody, and the sight of his absorption now stirred feelings which brought unnecessary force to bear on the sharp knife with which she sliced potatoes for the pan.
