We must wash out those stains up stairs, and burn the cloth. She loved to dress the Fritz and Anna in outfits that she stitched from discarded velvet dresses. Here was the place behind the shed where she had used to hide from Roddy’s persecutions, and here the border of herbaceous perennials under whose stems was fairyland. There was an eerie sense of brooding menace about an uninhabited establishment. ‘Nothing of the sort,’ argued Gerald. “I want to know who you are. I MUST.
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