“Check,” I said softly as I pulled my fingers away from my queen. We had been belabouring our moves for hours and each move was as if my opponent and I were truly were on a field of battle. He looked thoughtful for a moment, measuring each man that he had remaining on the chessboard that he would willingly sacrifice to take his king out of peril. He did not move anything but rather mulled over the possibilities, each possibility passed over his features and faded until at last he moved a rook in the direct path of my opposing queen.
“Most women would have relegated themselves to their embroidery at this time, Frances,” my opponent said settling back into his leather wing chair, stretching lazily, as if languishing like a cat that had been too long by the fire, “but not you. If I didn’t know better, I would say that you pay closer attention to tactics and strategy than you do to the womanly arts of lace tatting
Fanny Fae 