He no longer made love to her, as there was no point. She could smell the sweet girl child he had buried in the garage in autumn, 1 even under the frozen ground. In the rush of commuters he did not see her boarding his train. Darting quickly to the chest that contained the priest’s vestments, she leapt onto it and reached her arm down to scrabble behind it on the floor. Sir John was not used to such glances, and he liked them. I was in the front row, and I fancied she smiled at me.
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