She felt her canines growing. John spent the first weeks of summer backpacking in Europe, and she heard occasional news from Michelle of his whereabouts. As soon, however, as the last solemn rites were over, and the remains of the unfortunate woman committed to their final resting-place in Willesden churchyard, his firmness completely deserted him, and he sank beneath the weight of his affliction. Even then she had understood vaguely that she had touched upon some philosophy of life: that one was never lonely when alone, only in the midst of crowds. She would look up, shake her head, and then go back to her reading or crewelwork. We know London, and you are a stranger here. It was your sister who married Sir John Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t it?” Anna nodded.
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