She could still smell the now familiar scent of him on the girl's body in the makeshift grave. It had been intensified and corrupted by time, as if to add insult to injury. Besides, you cannot tell where it will end. “A wonderful piece of work,” he declared. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. “See you to-night, I suppose?” He sauntered off. A thin mist lay on the river, giving the few craft moving about in it a ghostly look. “So she must have had you fairly young, right?” Lucy nodded again.
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