“I knew that you waited at the farmhouse. The walls were pristine white and unmarked except for two sconces and a rather colorless Monet poster that had been framed in an expensive oak surround. The family always managed to make it home for supper, even though it was a dying custom. “My dear Miss Stanley, when I talked to you the other afternoon of work and politics and such-like things, my mind was all the time resenting it beyond measure. It was time to disappear, no more Becks, no more Spaghetti Nights, no more afternoon kisses in the park with John Diedermayer.
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