Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. How could she tell him what indeed already began to puzzle herself, why she had borrowed that money at all? The plain fact was that she had grabbed a bait. On reaching the churchyard, he perceived the melancholy procession descending the hill. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. Her acrid rose perfume oil that hung in the air that smelled like a head shop, her V. . She would take the items with her; bury the items and her bloodstained clothes in one of the many sinkholes in the huge landfill/garbage dump on the south side of town.
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