When the dishes were wiped and put away and the chores done, Daniel pulled out the tin bath while Martha put water to heat.

She needed this bath. Her whole body felt tender, like a piece of paper that had been folded and refolded so many times that it had gone soft with handling. Maybe a bath would help her sort things through, because there was a war going on. Her mind told her that she should be satisfied and sated and in need of nothing more than a good night’s sleep, but there was a tingling itch between her legs that would not be ignored.

When the water was heated she climbed in and leaned back, her whole body relaxing with pleasure. Nerves jumped in the places she was most tender—she saw now she had a rash on her breasts and shoulders, all from Daniel’s beard stubble. She slipped farther into the water and sighed with contentment.

Daniel pulled up a stool so he could sit next to her. For a long moment he just watched as she began to wash.

“Your mind is very far away,” she said, a little put out that he was so uninterested in the sight of her in the bath.

He said, “Is it? I wanted to say something. Now that the books are all organized—” He cleared his throat. “I thought maybe we could read aloud now and then in the evening.”

Martha closed her eyes and did her best to keep her tone even, but there was a breathless quality to it. “What a good idea.”

“Well, then,” Daniel said. “I’ll just open this book up and see where we land.”

There was a riffling of pages and a long pause that drew out and out and brought Martha to the edge of reason.

“This is one of my favorite passages,” Daniel said, and he began.

“‘The highest tax was upon men who are the greatest favourites of the other sex, and the assessments according to the number and natures of the favours they have received; for which they are allowed to be their own vouchers. Wit, valour, and politeness were likewise proposed to be largely taxed, and collected in the same manner, by every person’s giving his own word for the quantum of what he possessed. But as to honour, justice, wisdom and learning, they should not be taxed at all, because they are qualifications of so singular a kind, that no man will either allow them in his neighbour, or value them in himself.’”

Martha opened her eyes. “Gulliver’s Travels?”

Daniel could produce a very innocent smile when it served his needs. “Would you prefer something else? I’ve got my mother’s copy of Vindication—”

“Gulliver will do just fine,” Martha said. “Please, go on.”

“‘The women,’” Daniel read on, “‘were proposed to be taxed according to their beauty and skill in dressing, wherein they had the same privilege with the men, to be determined by their own judgment. But constancy, chastity, good sense, and good nature, were not rated, because they would not bear the charge of collecting.’”

It was a good story, Martha reminded herself, and it had been a long time since she had last read any of it. Daniel’s voice was deep and clear, and he had his mother’s talent for accents and voices. After some time Daniel paused to ladle more hot water and then to put a folded towel beneath her neck.

“That better?”

She smiled at him sleepily and began to drift in and out, aware of the rise and fall of his voice and the crackle of the fire and little else.

“‘For my own part,’” Daniel continued reading, “‘I was far from pleased with his excessive regard for feminine modesty and fragility. He believed me to be innocent and so I took it upon myself to demonstrate a truth he, for all his sophistication and worldly experience, had failed to comprehend. And that is, if one wishes to attain full enjoyment of love, restraint must be overcome and modesty banished. My woman’s body was made to give and receive pleasure, and we need fear nothing but artifice. There was no sin in our enjoyment of each other, and nothing to regret as long as the fucking brought pleasure for both.’”

Martha bolted upright so that water sloshed onto the hearth and the fire hissed in complaint.

“Daniel Bonner!”

He cocked his head at her, his expression calm, though a twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away.

“What? Gulliver was putting you to sleep so I thought this might interest you more—”

She made a grab for the book, and he scooted backward out of reach.

“You—you—” She heard herself spluttering. Then she realized she was kneeling upright in the tub, naked, her skin rose pink from the heat. Martha sat down again and more water sloshed.

“I’ll put it away,” Daniel said, “if you don’t want to hear any more.” He was smiling broadly. “In fact, I’ll toss it in the fire.” He turned toward the hearth.

“Daniel!”

One eyebrow arched. “You object?”

“Yes. No. Yes!” Martha reached for the towel on the empty stool beside her, but Daniel was there first.

“Oh, look, it’s wet,” he said with great solemnity. “Let me hang it up to dry. Now what was it you wanted me to do with the French Lady of Leisure?”

Her choices were extreme. She could climb naked out of the tub and stalk, just as she was, into the bedroom to dress; she could sit back down, close her eyes, and listen to Daniel reading.

Martha made an effort to examine the book. Plain dark green binding, gold-edged pages, and a lot of them. A long book.

“Did you want me to keep reading?”