John spent the first weeks of summer backpacking in Europe, and she heard occasional news from Michelle of his whereabouts. ” “But Italy—” “Italy’s for a good girl,” he said, and laid his hand for a moment on her shoulder. A traffic of copious barges slumbered over the face of the river-barges either altogether stagnant or dreaming along in the wake of fussy tugs; and above circled, urbanely voracious, the London seagulls. In any event, I explained that no one lived here and that we’d been called in because of suspected intruders.
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