Sheppard was no sooner alone than she fell upon her knees by the side of the couch, and poured forth her heart in prayer. She could smell the sweet girl child he had buried in the garage in autumn, 1 even under the frozen ground. “Perhaps,” he said, “I have been to blame. Lucy sighed, finding it odd to switch roles as she had over the past weeks. Little things, almost impalpable, had happened to justify that doubt; something in his manner had belied his words. Tomorrow you will feel like a freed woman. I don’t want you to talk to me now. A conviction that her sister’s words were true had from the first possessed her.
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