'We know nothing,' she would say. 'It's inconsequential to pontificate.'
Is it trivial – or perilous?
Engrossed and alone inside my sister's vehicle, I envision Abigail currently, venturing into the ice chest for the container of Chardonnay she generally keeps there, presenting herself with a beverage with shaking hands, the jug tinkling against the lip of the glass. I envision her taking a long swallow, blame hosing her hairline. She is a decent individual, I think. That is the reason she thinks that it is so hard to lie. It's additionally why it's so hard to think about her deceiving Eliza. However, she is concealing something, she has consistently been concealing something, and at the present time it seems like I have consistently known it.
I restart the motor, head once again into t
