Chapter Fourteen
I walk on the beach for an hour, in the garden for another hour. There are white billowy clouds strolling daintily across the cornflower blue sky. There hasn’t been a more perfect morning since I arrived here; no fog, no haze, just the breathless sky and tiniest of winds to pleasantly ruffle my hair and send my skirt floating around my thighs.
All this, yet none of it dispels my anger.
Not the fragrance of flowers, not the splashing colors, or the monotonous beat of the surf. Nothing.
When I see her face in the attic window, that obscure pale face with its innocent eyes, my decision’s made: the one I’d really made the afternoon before when Peach was still hanging in bondage forced to look at that ridiculous waif-like expression. I think about it for awhile, not with a
