
Kirsty knitted on a moorland stone while you described the honours an army career would bring. You describe the applause clearly, Francie, but not the duty required to deserve it. You step into this one-chapter preview with Kirsty Barclay at the center, where choices turn on the people, promises, and pressure already in the room. Before you chose, the evening darkened over the single road between your mother's house and Corbyknowe. The chapter closes on a continuation question rather than resolving the novel's larger arc.
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