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This time, he thought,its gone too far. Shell kill me for sure. The heater had barely begun to make a difference, but Dale felt the cold air sweep over him as Samara opened the door, swung her bag into the footwell, and dropped into the passenger seat. Samara blinked, the words finally sinking in. Gabriel continued through the dining room to the kitchen.As long as we both know where we stand. They almost made it. Whatd he say? Max asked. The woman reaches down to pick up a stone. She wants to hold something solid: to fill her pockets with weight so she does not drift away. She starts to bend down and notices that her feet are bare. She thinks of her feet as ugly things.Trotters, her last man called them. Her little toe crosses over the next one on both of her feet. There is hard, calloused skin upon her soles.Like sleeping with a cheese-grater. Thats what he said, whenever she drifted from her side of the bed onto his side. Such teasing always served as a gateway. The insults would drift up and over her as if she were lowering herself into water. Chubby ankles, toddler legs, pudgy knees, dimpled arse. Hed reach over and grab her belly. Squeeze great handfuls of her. Shed be crying by the time he reached her nipples.Rubber-fingers, he called them. Pulled out his phone and shoved pictures under her nose; sows suckling their young: swollen purple teats, bruised and sticky with greenish milk. Her tears would stoke his temper. He’d call her weak. Tell her she disgusted him. That by 46 she should know her strengths and how to cope with a little banter about her appearance. Peevishly, fatly, he would turn his mass away from her, shaking his head into the pillow, muttering about how he was trying to have fun, to make her laugh, that she could take the piss out of him if she wanted and he wouldn’t fucking cry about it. It would fall to her to apologise: clinging to his sweaty shoulder like moss. Violet laughs, a little too loud.Do you need the mirror? I was doing my make-up …, He cursed, the sound soft and low, reverberating in the tunnel as he led them away from those already wounded, as others raced ahead of them, crying out warnings, raising the alarm. The table bore an art history more personal than any textbook. Stained with the dark, rich smell of oils, wearing slips of paint that refused to shift and cuts that ran too deep, it had housed the creation of hundreds of projects. How many stood in this exact spot, Samara wondered. How many stared through this very window to study the grey world beyond, with its grimy aluminium sky. Ashen buildings, blemished by smoke and stained by soot, lined the quiet road leading past the college. Each piece of unique architecture shared a palette that smothered them into a single dreary entity. Good to see you, Mr Sixpence, smiles Tunstall, making way for the shambolic figure who takes his place in front of the fire They left the perimeter of the camp, and the lights faded behind them. Vertigern walked on silently, lost in thought. He closed and reopened his fists at his side, over and over. What could he be so stressed about? He watched me closely, strange shadows once again flickering in his eyes.So you think its a copycat. You havent seen the body, have you? In their mothers folktales they resembled silver ghosts, with skin like snow and a hunger for death. Gilliad had found those tales to be true—horribly true. His stories compounded the terrors of her childhood. Even now, Jeren sometimes woke from nightmares where ghostly white figures gathered around her, ready to carry her off to the endless snow plains they called home. She shivered at the thought. It doesnt take long for Rowan to get an address for Tunstall. Hes 80 now, and still lives at Bleng Hall, Nether Wasdale. Rowan performs a search on two real estate sites and cross-checks with the Land Registry. Hes lived in the property since 1986, when it was transferred into private ownership bythe Whitecross Trust, along with a large parcel of private woodland to the rear of the property that once formed the Silver Birch Academy..