The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. Ruth had lived in a world without caresses. “You found the cabochon? After all these years?” He asked, incredulous. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. “What happened to your parents, Lucy? Is it all right if I ask?” Lucy looked at her with a soft gaze. Marina doted over her pregnant daughter, adorned in fine brocades, reassuring her that it was certain to be a either a baby boy or a girl of such great beauty she would eclipse them both. She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. ‘Of course not,’ snapped his friend. For a stunned moment, Emile did not speak. ToC After running to some distance down Seacoal Lane, Jack stopped to give a last look at the vehicle which was bearing away the remains of his beloved and illfated mother.
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