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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...

‘There is only me now’

‘And your sister Angela?’ ‘She got married during the war. They have three children.’ ‘I remember her as the most beautiful person I have ever known.’ ‘She has a daughter,’ Hibson said, ‘very like her....

What are we doing here?

‘Are you married?’ ‘Yes, I’m married.’ ‘It doesn’t seem to have put you off your game.’ Leverett finished his whisky and stared at the empty glass. The tall waitress was leaning against the wooden ledge,...

Byrrh!

Instead of going straight across, he detoured on to the Île Rousseau. On either side of the short connecting span, the ducks and geese and swans, in their separate pens, placidly scoured their soiled and...