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Childhood memories

He put his hand towards her face. She stood quite still. He saw now that there was an old scar on her forehead, just above her left eyebrow. ‘Lugeing down from Sonloup,’ he said. ‘A...

A serious woman

Irina’s voice said: ‘I’ll be with you in a moment.’ There was an undeniable erotic effect, Hibson knew, in being alone with a woman in a place deserted by all the others who would usually...

An interesting pastime

Irina drove in silence as far as the main road. While waiting to turn right, she said: ‘Mademoiselle Limier is nice, isn’t she?’ ‘As far as I could judge.’ ‘And Andrew Tilling.’ It was a...

The ghosts of grief

‘Tragedy isn’t a twentieth-century invention,’ Hibson said. ‘Think of your ’Fifteen and ’Forty-Five. There must have been hundreds of women who lost a husband in one and a son in the next. You won’t leave...

A strip of memories

It was unreeling in his mind – an old cinematographic film, torn, stained, faded, but fresh and immediate for all that. For a moment he was afraid of it. But the recollection was private; it...