Strangers at Dawn

By: Elizabeth Thornton


The dog, of indeterminate pedigree with perhaps a touch of wolf thrown in-and that didn’t seem right to Caspar because there hadn’t been wolves in England for three hundred years—sank to the floor and rested its jowls on its immense paws. Its gaze never wavered from Caspar.

“He doesn’t like men,” said Miss. Mayberry, stepping down from her chair. “Lady Octavia should have warned you. I’m Jane Mayberry, by the way.”