‘Until today. She was not altogether surprised when she found a deer, gutted of its entrails and strung with a garland of flowers, on the cave’s doorstep one humid summer morning. She fixed her brilliant eyes upon him. They were drenched with water and suds. ‘Then it must certainly be Eugénie. “That sounds so uncouth,” she murmured. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. His sister followed. For a time he and Miss Klegg contradicted one another. You're always complaining that you can't keep anybody more than three months.
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