She could smell the sweet girl child he had buried in the garage in autumn, 1 even under the frozen ground. The flowers and turf, a wild strawberry, a rare butterfly, and suchlike little intimate things had become more interesting than mountains. “Who took care of you after she died?” “My father. Part 2 In the late afternoon, as Ann Veronica was gathering flowers for the dinnertable, her father came strolling across the lawn toward her with an affectation of great deliberation. But he seized the chance to entrap her fingers, fan and all, and look deeply into her eyes.
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