“The middle of what? Being thrust in front of a camera by her abductors? None of that had actually happened. No . . . but I knew Loraine — and I knew that she wouldn’t have fallen to pieces, she would have stayed in control. I could still admire her courage and her level-headedness — however bizarre the means by which I’d been reminded of those qualities. I started to turn away, and she said, ‘Stay if you like. I don’t mind you watching.’ I took a few steps into the cluttered studio. Aft...er the stark, cavernous spaces of the gallery, it looked very homely. ‘What are you working on?’ She stood aside from the easel. The sketch was almost completed. It showed a woman, clenched fist raised to her lips, staring straight at the onlooker. Her expression was one of uneasy fascination, as if she was gazing at something hypnotic, compelling — and deeply troubling. I frowned. ‘It’s you, isn’t it? A self-portrait?’ It had taken me a while to spot the resemblance, and even then, I wasn’t sure.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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