9
The next morning was Saturday, market day, and Molly drove the Citroen into the village since it was too cold for her beloved scooter. In late November, the market wasn’t the happy, convivial place that it was during the warmer months; customers wanted to make their purchases quickly and hurry on. Conversations were shorter and there was decidedly less joking around, especially during this latest unusually cold snap.
But while Molly loved a summer market almost more than anything, she appreciated the winter ones as well. The church looked stark under the gray sky, and the golden limestone of houses did not glow, but nevertheless, the bare branches of the pollarded plane trees were striking, and perhaps, that morning, the temperature wasn’t quite as frigid as it had been.
First was Man
