She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. ‘And if you like, I will tell you why. She thought of an old abandoned barn that she could inhabit further downriver, but shrugged off the idea in disdain. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. “I heard the clock strike as I crossed the square,” she answered. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you so badly,’ he said, still meeting her eyes, unaware that his hold about her hand had tightened a little.
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