Well, maybe she could, but something in her, something that had been bred in her since she had first learned to walk, repelled against the thought. After all, manners bred, and indicated, respect. As her mother had always said, if one did not respect others, one could not reasonably expect that same respect back from them. Ruefully, Emma thought that her sense of decorum would someday be the death of her. She would probably be fighting for her life against some crazed killer someday, kick him in the nuts, and then instead of running away sensibly, she'd probably stop, apologise, and ask if she could call an ambulance for him."Good morning," James said coolly, setting aside his newspaper, and picking up his glass of apple juice. Emma smiled to herself, recalling his fondness for apple juice. Kit had always had a glass every morning, too, she thought, after they'd spent the night making love...But no. It hadn't been Kit, had it? It had been James - James and his routine glass of apple
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