She imagined descending the stairs, hearing Mike’s uproarious laughter as she peeked around a vacant corner with a lump in her throat. Oh, you cannot escape from it. ‘Maman?’ ‘How touching,’ said a sarcastic voice behind her in French. Had to. Father— dead. Plainly. Fretting and fidgeting, he had, after an hour or so, turned to McClintock. She saw marks in the dirt where he had been pacing.
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