FORTY-THREE
Her numinous home, sanctuary for a restless soul.
The river, so long her private sanctuary, was despoiled. No longer did it provide her with peace and tranquillity; the riverine restfulness and serenity had gone forever, tainted by the memory of what had occurred beside those pristine waters.
The overhanging willow from where a majestic kingfisher perched and fished, diving in a flashing turquoise streak to take hapless minnows and guppies in the river below, held no peace of mind.
The river had been her numinous home, sanctuary for a restless soul, but now a soul in torment. The idyllic peace of her inner sanctuary had been foully desecrated, her paradise r***d as surely as had her body.
Now, crossing over the stream by the dam, Eleanor slowly made her way to the shallow
