She could smell the sweet girl child he had buried in the garage in autumn, 1 even under the frozen ground. ’ ‘But you mind that I say I do not trust you. . It’s my choice, Lucy. Tears flowed in rivulets down 121 her cheeks and she began to cry. She dismissed the idea of doing so. Wood's reception of the widow, who, at that moment, was ushered into the room by Winifred, was not particularly kind and encouraging. ” She was silent, and in the gloom of the dimly lit apartment he could not see her face.
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