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Knives were worse, especially when you were stabbed back and left traces of your own blood at the crime scene. He did not move. She was supposed to be reading at home, and after breakfast she strolled into the vegetable garden, and having taken up a position upon the staging of a disused greenhouse that had the double advantage of being hidden from the windows of the house and secure from the sudden appearance of any one, she resumed the reading of Mr. The teacher droned on and on about the mournful funerary love of Romeo and Juliet, a tale she had long since tired of. Love…. ” She looked down on him thoughtfully, and he let his admiration of her free young poise show in his face. Supposing he too wanted love and his arms were as empty as hers? Some living thing that depended upon her.
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