Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. She looked away. “I wonder if you give me a thought. If she had once known him, if he were some former neighbour, it would be comprehensible. No one would ever know what happened to him. He occupied one of the smaller houses near the station. When I carried you up here like a bride, that is the way I wanted us to be, Mary Lucia.
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