Autumn that year painted the countryside in vivid shades of scarlet, saffron and russet, and the days were clear and crisp under harvest skies.

Autumn that year painted the countryside in vivid shades of scarlet, saffron and russet, and the days were clear and crisp under harvest skies.

There is nothing worse than an enemy with imagination.

…she remembered watching a summer sunset from this very spot. Not so long ago; just a lifetime.

A cynic who was still saddened whenever his jaundiced view of mankind was confirmed.

It was just like him, she thought; with him, a happy ending was always a foregone conclusion. But such was the power of his faith that when she was with him; she found herself believing in happy endings, too.

Abigail Adams could become my favorite historical sleuth.