Fay wandered up laneways and down streets. It was still chill winter, but there was a hint of warming in the air. Fay hoped the warming was not only in the air. She wanted it to be a bridge inside her, something to link whatever it was that seemed to be tearing her apart. So she was in the town, restlessly wandering, using the walking to drift through her own mind, to think, to identify problems, and the problems within the problems.
Belle must hate her. Fay hated herself, so how could Belle not hate her. And Fay could not accept Gilbert. She was in love, but now that she was in the town and not the safety of the cove, in her vagrant mind’s eye she saw a look on his face when she pictured it. The look said he hated her soul, even as he loved her. For her, there was no gap in time between
