‘Now what?’ The guard jerked his head up the corridor. They turned the corner that joined Michelle's street to her own. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. ‘Odds were against it. Had he had the child to think of, he might have recovered from his grief at Mary’s death.
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