Violet was less adept at creeping than Mr Samuels. Her four inch platforms could hardly have helped, as they must have surely created a false impression to her actual foot of what was underfoot. That might be nice – walking over things yet feeling no immediate connection to them – but it didn’t help with the business of creeping. She crashed and stomped through the undergrowth as delicately as she could. Briars and twigs reached out to scratch her white legs. A faint, small line of blood stained her left calf. Of all of us, I was less sure about quite why Violet was there. That she and Paul had a relation I readily grasped, but the nature of that relation was unclear to me. Was there some bond I couldn’t fathom, some deep yearning within the bosom of Ms Kawecka that could only be assuaged
