The haunted lamplight brought life to the page, and she watched as her father read (in a nice, harsh voice) from it;
" - and then read as follows;
'The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts,
All on a summer day:
The Knave of Hearts, he stole those starts,
And took them quite away!'
'Consider your verdict,' the King said to the jury." He stopped abruptedly, letting the book fall shut and his hand fall to the blanket.
She nudged him, cautious. "Couldn't you read a little more?"
His hand grazed her knee, and then encased it in his palm. "No," he said tartly. She blinked, and he softened. "If you're a good girl tonight, I'll read you more tommorow."
"Good?" she asked, wavering.
His hand came to rest on her hip. It felt normal. "Just be good with Daddy, and he'll find those tarts tommorow."