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Bobo insisted on a walk when Molly got home, so reluctantly she put on a warmer hat and walked out to the meadow, the dog racing ahead and occasionally leaping into the air with sheer joy, making Molly feel happy in spite of the weather. She tried, as much as possible, to let her thoughts tumble along willy-nilly, rambling this way and that without trying to force them in any particular direction. She had found that letting go in this way sometimes produced the most useful thinking, and if not, it gave her some much needed mental rest.
She wondered about Claude Blanchon, and how it must have felt to have his father reported to the Nazis, and dragged off, never to be seen again. Whether not knowing the exact details of his fate made it all much worse, or did not matter. Some things wer
