His hand curled around her knee, so tight it hurt. What was he, to have killed Edward—yet to be standing here afterwards as if nothing had happened The fever extended its web of tendrils into her dreams, distorting every anxiety into a palpable enemy. My friend had to go back to London so I offered to drive him.
They were dead, weren't they? So small, crumpled in on themselves like folded black sails. You should live your life, Charlotte. She wasn't sure whether he meant, Tell me or, Haven't you guessed? Emptiness, she whispered. You left a card in my pocket, she said.
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