Erma refused to sit on the rickety chair in front of the desk. On the ground, here was her place. Crouched against the dusty wall, her hands circling her folded knees, she chanted her sorrow without containing the tears that ran down her cheeks covered with freckles.
“Come on, kid, don’t waste your time. Tell me what your name is.”
“...”
“The police will arrive. They’ll know. They must have search notices, stuff like that. They’ll know. You left home, right? Where are you from? You’re from near here?”
“...”
“Don’t cry, little girl, your parents will pick you up.”
Adam stuck his cheek on the dry grass. The heatwave had hit so hard in the last month and a half that the flora was dying. The farmers lamented future harvests by cursing nature, God, Harold Macmillan, the neighbours a
