“There are some people,” he said at last, “who seem fated to carry on their shoulders the burdens of other people. Nobody could possibly find him now. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. ‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. ’ Amusement flickered in Gerald’s breast. He hanged your first husband.
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