No Darla. No delicious aromasfrom the kitchen. Worry pushed all other thoughts out of my head.My Darla wasn't upstairs either. I called out her name! ...ilence.I glanced out an upstairs window.There she was, thank God! But she was wandering randomly it seemedalong the floral walk in our back garden, leaning over now and thento pick flowers for our dinner table I supposed, thenabsent-mindedly breaking their stems or snapping off their heads,one after another. Plainly, disturbed by her thoughts!. ” I get out of my pleated skirt and fold it carefully over the chair. “Now everything else, please.” There are my shoes and my tights and my knee socks and my gym shorts and my cotton panties, all designed to keep my body impregnable, but finally I have nothing more to take off. He reaches out a hand and softly touches the dark hair between my legs, which makes me shiver a little. “Do you know what this is called?” he asks. “It’s my weasel.” Father makes a garbled sound and then he coughs. “Is. More

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