Samah stepped away from her. He took hold of her hands in his, folded them one on top of the other, and lightly, dryly, kissed the tips of her fingers.
“There is nothing to forgive, Wife. You were right to speak in this man’s defense. The strain is telling on both of us.”
He released her hands.
Orla held them out to him a moment longer, but Samah pretended not to see.
Slowly, she lowered her hands to her sides. Finding the dog there, pressing against her knee, she absently scratched it behind its ear.
“The strain. Yes,