3.16
It was a still evening. The air was fresh. The sunset glowed rich crimson over South Beach. Lazy waves flopped on the shore. A kilometre of golden sand stretched between the breakwaters. Beyond, to the north, the lights in Fremantle Marina and on the cargo ships anchored out at sea twinkled in the deepening dark. Now her shoulder bags were empty of junk mail she felt physically buoyant. Emotionally, she was anything but.
She wondered how much longer she would be able to endure this junk-mail run. Pride vied with the abiding darkness of her predicament, shutting her into a private world, a guarded, self-protective and lonely world of regret and self-recrimination, a world poised to eclipse her enceinte otherworldliness at every turn. She summoned her resolve. She told herself she had
