Even so much allusion as this to that family shadow, she felt, was an immense recognition of her ripening years. ‘Well, water under the bridge is that, miss. “She wasn’t sane, my wife. ” “We’ve come past it, miss,” the man answered, with a note of finality in his gruff voice. If I’d known, there would have been a different story. “Hey you,” he said affectionately. When she occupied, it, it was neatness itself; the little porch was overrun with creepers—the garden trim and exquisitely kept. Anna opened a cupboard and produced cups and saucers and a tin of coffee. Mischief bubbled up in her. “Can you take any from me?” “No, I won’t do that. It is not for myself I fear.
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