Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. “That sounds quite absurd,” she answered. She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed.
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