loo—women always had to go to the loo—or perhaps to the kitchen for a glass of water.
He smiled a little at his own stupidity. What he wanted, needed, had been right under his nose all along and he’d been too blind to see it. Now he felt as if his life had come round full circle, complete, and he imagined the pattern of their days together. Work, then home, and at day’s end he would find sanctuary beside her, entangling himself in the curtain of her coppery hair.
Kincaid stretched his arm across her pillow, ready to enfold her when she returned. The rain beat steadily against the windowpane, counterpoint to the warmth of the room. With a sigh of contentment, he drifted once again into sleep.
Вы читаете Leave the Grave Green
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