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Did a bit of that, aye, nods Pickle. Of course shed say she was an interior designer first, teacher second. No! Shans voice rocked the world of the Fellna swarm and they joined in again, responding to him as readily as they did to the Enchassa. His rage engulfed them all. You have to stop him. Hes taken her. Hes going to do it. Stop him. If anybody had told Shell that he would have listened to the little mans story with anything other than scorn, he would have dismissed the notion. But there had been something about the way in which he spoke of his beliefs. Something that spoke of a knowledge of things that normal people could only dream of. Shell had listened. He had never allowed Sixpence to perform any of his healing techniques upon him, but he had enjoyed hearing about those who did. About the rich men and women who paid the bosses at the posh school for a chance to spend time in the woods with the strange little man as he banged his drum ad sang his songs and surfed on their energies like a a bird riding a thermal. Hes seen him in his full costume, a gift from medicine men in Peru who had shown him how to brew the potions that helped them to cross over. The mask was a thing of beauty and horror; a ragged leather patchwork of different shades of brown, stitched and twisted into something resembling a wild boar – yellowing tusks forming a portcullis around an open, snarling mouth. Is it real pig-leather? Shell had asked. Sixpence just smiled, and told him that some questions were best left unanswered. Its all leather and pig-flesh - a mess of tusks and furrowed snout: the whole stained a dark tobacco-brown. She thinks of bog bodies. So you can live a real life. Laugh, maybe even fall in love some day. Raise a family. Theres a lot more than this waiting for you. He pushes open the front door and heres her call out that shes in the kitchen, drying off. He follows the sound of her voice, leaving footprints on her terracotta tiles, noticing the occasional imprint of her own damp soles upon the dry stone. He steps into the warm, yellow-painted kitchen; the drapes dark green. Used pots are stacked around a deep Belfast sink and the round kitchen table is a platter for a colossal buffet of pens, paints, papers and modelling clay. Pots, pans and old-fashion gypsy-style tea kettles hand from a wrought-iron range. The baby, now draped in a soft blue blanket, sits on the floor by an empty bowl for cat food, looking up at his mum with an expression somewhere between reverence and hunger. You had the same as me, Violet …, I… He closed his eyes, pinching them shut with one hand, the razor still clutched in the other. Jesus Christ. Oh, love. What have you done to yourself? Not this time. I felt the knife plunge into my heart, ripping me apart as it twisted. Id accepted the fact that Salyer had killed Emma and built my new life on nothing but finding and killing him. Now that I knew she wasnt dead, nothing else mattered except saving her from him. This from the man whos dying and refuses to do anything about it? The same man who keeps hammering nails into his coffin with every cigarette he smokes? Forget it, Gabriel. You’re preaching to the wrong choir with a dead microphone. Violet rolls her eyes at Mr Tunstall. She moves half an inch to her left. Catherine follows her and gets an elbow to the ribs for her trouble. The morning mist gives this landscape a blurry quality, as if the watchers eye were still muzzy with sleep. It transforms the panorama into something oddly fabric in texture: the fells gathered into ruches and pleats; all mismatched swatches of tweed and hessian - felted twists and wisps of downy green wool. Whatever shreds of dignity remained to her were all she had now. Jeren nodded stiffly. That must be her man, driving, says Serendipity. Terence. One R, which tells you all you need to know. And you. Be careful. His throat closed, tight and painful.I cant leave her. Not again..