But all that could be ascertained in the village was, that a man had ridden off a short time before in the direction of London. She took the tray with both hands, gulped, and gave way to tears. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. “Oh, I am lonely,” she moaned. It was not so uncommon back in the Hebrides for men to take several wives and additional lovers. In Larry’s old Cadillac sedan, she sat in the backseat as Larry drove and Cathy sat beside him.
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