‘One would take it that the house had been ransacked. My death, probably. “I promise, Lucy. My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me. "I'm armed; you are not. I wanted you to know. She could still smell the now familiar scent of him on the girl's body in the makeshift grave. There was a hint of tears in her voice. The flowers and turf, a wild strawberry, a rare butterfly, and suchlike little intimate things had become more interesting than mountains. I know South America and Canada like the lines in my hand. The occasion is worth a dash of the grape, lad.
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