“Iris stated, pulling a chicken-and-broccoli casserole out of the oven just as I burst through the back door. I nodded, bending low to catch my breath. My leg muscles were throbbing and my throat was parched. I filled up a glass with cold water and drank it all in one gulp. “You mustn’t go back there, not yet.” Iris had a stern look in her eyes. “What is it about that place, anyway?” I asked, filling my water glass again and brushing the wet hair from my face. “I felt like . . .” My words trailed off. “I don’t know what I felt like.” I eyed the casserole, suddenly famished. After what I had just been through, I wanted only to immerse myself in the safety and familiarity of one of Iris’s tales. I settled into my chair, took a bite of the steaming casserole, and listened as she cleared her throat and began to speak. “After Hannah’s death, life went on here in the house. We had a very companionable existence for the next few years. Charles built a thriving business while I ran the househo...ld, supervising a staff of three.MoreLessShow More Show Less
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