I cursed and sat down on a bench. I must have dozed in the sun, for it was 12:10 when I looked at my watch. Rubbing my eyes and stretching, I realized...that I didn't want to read any more Gillespie. I didn't want to read Jens Peter Jacobsen, either. I thought of Alice. I had looked her up. And she'd made a remark about an article of mine.In the library, at the bibliography table, I thought I'd look in the most recent volume. "Singleton, A." had two entries: a Ford and a Haggard. The previous. Especially as her father had married late in life to a wealthy, but shy woman who had passed away giving birth to their only child.The two girls had met 3 years before when they were both 17. They were leaving church the first Sunday after Victoria and her widowed mother had moved to the town from London on account of failing resources, and from that day forward the two had been firm friends and were all but inseparable, and Marian had assumed they would remain so forever.Then, last Sunday. More

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