If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets. There was a case, or something, some years ago. ’ ‘I like that,’ Gerald protested. No one would ever know what happened to him. Wood.
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