Rohan came into the parlor in his shirtsleeves, a silhouette against the light from the hall. The coals in the fireplace gave just enough illumination to pick out the shape of his face and the pale fall of the lace on his shirt front. He leaned against the doorframe, watching her silently.
Belle ducked her head and clasped her hands more tightly on the half-knitted sweater. She heard nothing; only his shadow falling across the light on the carpet told her that he came into the room.
He walked behind her. He began to take down her hair, searching out the pins and letting them fall silently on the floor. Her plaited hair came free. She kept her head lowered as the braids tumbled across her shoulders. She had braided them into two parts and pinned them up that morning so she could fit the hair into her winter cap, she had so much hair for one head.
