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” She stopped short, full of things un-said. Jack was not half your age when he died. "Ruth?" he called. His eyebrows arched, knotting in the middle. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. Her teachers and mistresses had done their best to stamp her mind with an ineradicable persuasion that it was tremendously important, and on no account to be thought about. ’ Hilary Roding groaned, but obediently followed Gerald as he began to make his way through the trees towards the back to a vantage point from where they might examine the rear of Remenham House. She stumbled through a thorny copse, her slippers sliding on patches of sand that gave way to rock. One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself.
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