Chapter 8: Old Wounds
St. Michael’s Rectory, Morning
A few days later and not fully awake, Leslie padded into the kitchen and put the kettle on to boil. He popped bread into the toaster, then cut each piece diagonally, placed it in a silver rack, and then set it out on the table with a jar of what looked to be quince jam but he wouldn’t swear to it.
He then sat and waited for the other inhabitants of St. Michael’s to join him. Silently, he wished for Mrs. Crowe’s return. She’d put everything to right. But of course, that wasn’t possible. The thought of their sudden and terrible loss overwhelmed him and he fell into a melancholy state. He patted his thinning hair this way then that, and finally gave up. He’d be bald as a billiard in no time.
“It won’t grow any faster or thicker by what
