‘Maybe more, maybe not… does it really matter,’ he wondered. It was the last war, anyway. Who’d be insane enough to have another one? She clea...ed the desktop and took the tray back to the kitchen. By the time he was standing at the door, she was coming down the stairs, pulling on a sweater that once belonged to Catherine. The cashmere sweater… it’s softness called to her. Eliza didn’t mind. There was a connection she felt with his lost wife and the clothes were so much better than anything. She gave me two excrutiatingly painful cuts across my right palm and two more across my left one....................................................... ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Some six years later, I was coming to the end of my schooldays at the Grammar School which I had attended since the age of eleven having passed the Entrance Examination during my time in Miss Clark's class. It was games. More

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