“Meanwhile she was kneeling on the kitchen floor, business-like in jeans and thick roll-necked jersey, brushing the recumbent Bosun. He groaned occasionally, and stretched luxuriously once or twice, but for most of the time he lay passively, tired by a long early-morning run over Trentishoe Down. After breakfast, Mina and Georgie and the dogs had walked down to the beach whilst Nest remained with Lyddie in the sunny kitchen, watching the grooming process. ‘Well, of course you do,’ agreed Nest. ‘...It would be odd if you didn’t. Love isn’t nearly so convenient as that. I’ve often wondered how it must be for those poor wives of serial murderers, suddenly discovering this whole other side to someone they love. How do they deal with it?’ ‘I suppose it doesn’t have to be a partner.’ Lyddie was distracted from her own pain for a moment. ‘It might be a parent.’ ‘Yes,’ said Nest, after a moment. ‘It might be. Or a child.’ ‘The helplessness of little children is appalling,’ said Lyddie.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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