Little Seven's tender and youthful voice came from where it was perched on the beam: "Sweetheart, sweetheart."
Claire Prescott glanced at it.
This bird was truly smart; it even acted as her spy at critical moments.
"What were they saying about me?"
Seeing the two of them exchanging meaningful glances, the old doctor, feeling embarrassed on her behalf, remarked, "Young girls need to learn to be a bit more reserved."
Claire Prescott pressed her lips together, shifting her gaze modestly away from Keane Lowell, putting some distance between them.
The old doctor said nothing further, got up, and hugged a blanket as he went inside.
He was deep and profound.
One could hardly discern his mood.
But Claire Prescott was already used to seeing this expression of his and assumed it was because of her lack of reserve. She didn't sense anything was amiss.
However.
Keane Lowell sensed something.
